Lead Us to the Light
by PerfectDisaster22
Summary: Harry Potter is attempting to reconcile with Alana Montblanc for the sake of their son. But when whispers of the Dark Lord's secret weapon surface, will Harry be called once again to be the Savior? Or will someone else be asked to save the day?
1. A Journey

**Author's Note**: Welcome to _Lead Us to the Light_! It's good to get back into the world of Harry Potter fanfiction, I've been absent for quite a long while. I've owed this story for about a year now, so I'm excited to finally post it.

About posting, though. This entire story is already written. I have edits to do on most of the chapters [and will likely make additional revisions based on reviews], but nothing so major that it'll change the story's direction. However, several months ago I started a new system where I write one story at a time, and write one chapter for that story before posting a chapter of the story I'm posting. For example, I wouldn't post a chapter of my story _AVPF_ until I'd finished writing a chapter of this story. So if it's been two weeks and I haven't posted a new chapter, assume that I'm having issues with writers' block, and please be patient with me. I will not abandon this story; it will all be posted eventually.

If you're looking for story updates or news about what I'm up to, please check my homepage. I always update there when I've done anything needing your attention.

And now, enjoy!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the world of Harry Potter, despite harassing, cajoling, begging and threatening JKR. If you recognize it, it's not mine. Also, I like to break canon, often in really big ways. That's why this is fanfiction, because I can get away with that. Don't you dare try to sue me.

However, this story is a sequel. Before you read this, make sure you've read [and remembered] the first part, _In the Darkness I Remain_. Otherwise, you're going to be absolutely confused about what's going on.

* * *

01 June, 2019  
The Headmaster's quarters were in complete and utter disarray. Empty bottles of Butterbeer and crumpled sheets of parchment mingled with broken quills and dirty socks. From their separate cages, two owls looked imperiously over the chaos as one distracted Headmaster hurriedly packed to leave.

Packing at the end of the school year had always been his least favorite part of Hogwarts. The castle was his home, more so than any place on earth with the possible exception of the Burrow, and he loathed leaving it. Fortunately, as Headmaster, he didn't have to be gone for long. He would return to Grimmauld Place for a few weeks, long enough to get things in order and to host his yearly party for his family and friends. He would spend time in the Ministry, aid Moody in whatever small jobs needed doing, and then he would return home to prepare for a new school year.

And he would not allow the black leather-bound journal on his mantel to change his plans in the slightest.

Eight months ago at the start of term, Harry Potter had received a visit from his eleven-year-old son James Malfoy. He had never met his son; by the time James had been born, Harry had been imprisoned by Voldemort and the boy's mother had been married to Draco Malfoy, thus giving Harry's son the last name of his archrival. He had learned of James from the boy's mother Alana Montblanc, when Fate had thrown them back together, but he had never spent any time with his child.

James had brought Harry a journal written by Alana, a letter of sorts to explain why she, bred to be the Dark Lord's weapon, had betrayed Harry to the enemy. It had been a painful read for Harry; he had had to relive nightmarish memories, and to face down prejudices and assumptions he'd held about his ex-fiancée for years. But now Harry had read Alana's letter. And he had promised her that he would fix things, which he was determined to do.

He just had no idea how to go about it.

He was hoping that after a few weeks in Grimmauld Place, the London townhouse where they had lived together more than once, he would emerge with some semblance of a plan.

He was quite sure, however, that getting on the Hogwarts Express with James was not the way to go about things. That was an instinct he would be wise to ignore.

So why in Merlin's name was he so tempted to do just that?

Frustrated, Harry grabbed the journal and chucked it into his trunk before walking downstairs into his office to gather together some files he meant to look through when he got to Grimmauld.

Ten minutes later, he stood before the trunk, journal in hand.

"I must be out of my mind," he muttered as he shoved the journal into his messenger bag and shut the lid of the trunk.

* * *

The twelve-year-old boy walked through the train station in the southernmost part of England, trying to maintain a calm and collected demeanor while internally he was going to pieces. And to think that just this morning, his greatest anxiety had been navigating the trip home. His mother's directions were easy enough to follow, but until he'd gone away to school, he'd never travelled on his own. Well, at least now he wasn't alone…

He threw a glance over his shoulder, reassured when he saw the tall man was still there. Surely nothing terrible could happen on the trip, not when the man- _his father_, he gleefully reminded himself- was there. At the sight of his father, though, all the boy's anxieties came crashing down upon him- namely, fear of his mother's reaction.

He hadn't written to inform his mother that he was bringing his father back with him. But that wasn't truly his fault; it wasn't until he'd gotten to Hogsmeade that he'd found his father on the train, and Harry Potter had announced that he was going to France with his son.

It wasn't that he feared punishment at his mother's hands. It was just that his parents hadn't seen each other in five years, and they hadn't truly spoken since before he was born. He feared his mother would resent the sudden appearance of his father without any chance to prepare herself.

But his father had said, "Leave your mother to me." So that was what he was going to do.

_His father_…

James Malfoy considered the man walking behind him. He had never, before this year, even seen the man who sired him, except in pictures. He'd spent the first seven years of his life with his step-grandmother, and they'd all thought his father to be dead. Then, five years ago, his mother had come into his life, and with her had come his first contact with his father. She had told him stories about his father- his real father, not the man whose name he bore- and given him the one picture she had of herself with him. And she had promised that one day he would attend the school where his father was Headmaster.

James knew who his father _was_, as well as anybody. Harry Potter, the great Chosen One, the hero and savior of the wizarding world. But he hadn't the faintest idea what the man was _like_. How did he like his eggs? What was his favorite color? What happened when he got angry? And James had no answers for the two most important questions- had Harry loved James' mother? Had he wanted James?

The fact that his father was a complete stranger bothered James, but he supposed that was hardly surprising. At any rate, he was more fortunate than his younger half-brother, because he could learn about Harry. His father, unlike Julian's, was still alive.

James didn't remember his stepfather; he'd only been a year old when Draco was killed. Growing up, his step-grandmother had told him stories about Draco, but the man had never seemed quite real to James. Of course he knew that Draco Malfoy had been real, that people had known him; his stepfather had once been one of the most infamous wizards in the world, and famously the archrival of James' own father. But his stepfather was just as much of a stranger as his biological father; Draco just seemed more unreal because he was firmly fixed in the past, dead and finite. There was no way to recall him, so James was content to leave him in the past.

His real father, though… Harry was a different matter. The subject of his father had always been a really touchy one for his mother; she didn't like to be reminded of him. James wasn't sure why, but he had an uneasy feeling that it had something to do with the fact that he was the result of Harry and Alana's liaison. James would like to believe that Alana had once loved Harry, that she might still… but life had taught him that it rarely worked that way. Alana had blocked Harry out, and so his father was a ghost, never to be spoken of.

It shouldn't have been anything unusual for James. The Malfoy boys had never had a father figure growing up. James' step-grandmother Narcissa had once stated that their mother had bad luck with men. First, James' parents had parted on terrible terms, what with Harry being betrayed to the Dark Lord and all. Then his mother had married Julian's father Draco, but he had been killed, and his mother had been taken away. James and Julian had been raised by Draco's mother Narcissa, but her husband had already been dead by that point.

Now, though, James did have a father, at least in name. And he found he had no idea how to behave around this man. What should James call him? What should he say, or not say? Should he assume Harry meant to join the family, or pretend as though his father was just a guest?

James closed his eyes. He had to stop this, he told himself firmly. If he didn't stop worrying, he would put himself in a panic attack, and that wouldn't help anything. Harry stopped next to his son, and James realized he'd stopped walking. Quickly, he opened his eyes and schooled his face into composure with a quickness that did his mother proud.

"Where's the platform?" Harry asked.  
"Between Twelve and Thirteen, like in King's Cross Station," James replied. "But the other side of this platform will be in France. Mother said the Number Seven is an express to Marseille. We'll pull in just in time for the festival."  
"Festival?" Harry queried.  
James nodded. "There's a party every year to celebrate the students returning home from Beaubatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts. It's Mother's favorite."

His father nodded thoughtfully but didn't comment. They passed through the barrier to Platform 12 7/8 without incident, and settled into their compartment for the six-hour trip to Marseilles… and Alana.

* * *

Harry watched his young son thoughtfully as the train flew through the French countryside. He was unexpectedly enjoying seeing James outside a school setting; his son seemed younger and less guarded as they drew closer to his home.

_His son_… Harry mused over the words, saying them pensively to himself. What did that phrase even mean? He had never formally laid claim to the boy, had no legal right to him. They were positive strangers to each other; he hadn't even known James was still alive until the boy was seven. Yet, James was absolutely Harry's. Physically, he was as much a clone of Harry as Harry was of his father. James carried Harry's genes, his blood, his magic. He even displayed some of Harry's personality traits, if one took the time to look past the calm and composed veneer he'd inherited from his mother. All of that was enough to make James Harry's offspring. But what was enough to earn the familial titles? _Father, son, family_… how did one forge those bonds? Did he even want to? He'd been out of Alana's life, and she from his, for years. Their romance- or whatever they'd had beneath her charade, if anything- was long dead. It was over and done now, and couldn't be changed.

But wasn't that exactly what he was doing by coming to France? Dwelling on the past, trying to rectify mistakes that probably couldn't be corrected?

Harry groaned silently at his circuitous thoughts and refocused on the challenge he would face in about four hours. Funny how killing Voldemort and throwing down the Death Eaters seemed simple compared to her. The woman had always been a mystery to him, a million conflicting questions without answers. It had driven him crazy, and once it had put him under her spell.

He pulled her journal from his bag and flipped through it absently, not paying much attention to the words on the page other than a phrase here, a sentence there that caught his fancy. He didn't need to read the journal; his heart had long since memorized every word.

The journal was the real reason he was going to Marseilles instead of London, why he was on this train that was rapidly speeding towards her. Thanks to this journal, he knew now what Alana Sinclair Montblanc was not… but he was left with the burning question of who she _was_. And he meant to find out.


	2. Collide

**Author's Note**: I'm posting this chapter in honor of the fact that I'm home from my internship, and found the plot for _Destiny_. Woo!

I'm pretty excited about this chapter. In _Darkness_, you only ever met Alana through her journal entries or Harry's memories. I was really excited to work with Alana as a character in her own right, instead of looking at her through other people's eyes. Enjoy!

* * *

01 June, 2019  
The peace of the early summer twilight was disturbed by the laughter of a woman as her eleven-year-old son tried his hardest to yank her down the street.

"You can pull me all you like, it won't get us there any faster," she said, her low, well-modulated voice warm with amusement. "You can run ahead, if you like."

The boy made an impatient face and dropped his mother's arm in disgust before sprinting down the street ahead of her. She shook her head, an indulgent smile gracing her lips.

"So much like your father…" she murmured.

Lady Alana Sinclair Montblanc Malfoy sighed softly as she tilted her head back towards the dusky sky, lit by a sliver of moon and the very first stars. She smiled to herself faintly as she looked up at the stars. Though normally she loathed twilight, identifying all too well with the dying day and the time of shadows, tonight was different. It was a beautiful night, there would be dancing at the festival, and James was coming home. Tonight, Alana was at ease.

Yet mixed in with the peace, she had to admit, was melancholy. Beautiful night though it was, the twilight was up to its old tricks, evoking memories of England and home and a life she'd never have again. She was content in France, truly, but it would never be home. She had thirty years' worth of certainty behind this statement; she had spent part of every summer at Monticrief Manor, where she now lived. She hadn't liked it then, and she didn't like it now.

It had been a very long five years, she thought to herself. The English Ministry of Magic had worked a deal with the French Wizarding Government so that Alana could be monitored as an exiled prisoner. Alana still had very little use for the Ministry, having hated them ever since they denied her request to go to Draco's funeral, and then not allowed her to say goodbye to her children before they took them from her. But she _very_ begrudgingly had to admire how they had managed things for her. She had lived quietly, keeping out of the public eye except for the yearly festival to welcome the children home from school. Her only visitor was Leigh Treacastle, the probation officer the Ministry had assigned to her case; he came once a month to ensure that she wasn't wreaking havoc and chaos or trying to resurrect the Death Eaters or something along those lines. It had been a quiet life, and truth be told a lonely one. But Alana accepted the lot she'd been assigned; Lord knew she deserved worse for what she'd done in the past.

She shook her head to rid herself of her idle, profitless thoughts as she and Julian entered the town square. The square was lit by hundreds of candles and Japanese lanterns, and decorated with white streamers. The air smelled of the gardenias which grew in bushes all around the square. A wooden platform had been built for dancing, and around it were tables. All the stores had set up booths to show off their wares. It promised to be quite a night.

"Mother!"

Alana turned, and a rare, full-blown smile blossomed on her face. A moment later, her precious older son had hurled himself into her arms. She held him close, ecstatic as only a mother can be that her child had returned home safely. She pulled back to look at him… and stared.

She was dreaming, she had to be. Or hallucinating. Because there was no possible way that Harry was standing there, looking as though time had passed him by. She was imagining him standing there, staring at her, looking as stunned as she felt.

"Harry," she said blankly, the name leaving her lips before she realized she'd spoken.  
A tiny, cheerless smile quirked his firm mouth. "Hello, Alana."  
James shifted uncomfortably, glancing between his parents. "I would have owled you, Mother, but-"  
"I made a last-minute decision to come," Harry cut in smoothly, his eyes never leaving hers.  
"Hmm. The Chosen One doing something without thinking it through, how shocking," she said dryly. "Boys, go get us a table, please."

Biting his lip, James nudged his brother, and they ran off. James was sure his parents were about to have a 'discussion', and he prayed he wouldn't get in trouble because of it- or worse yet, lose this time with his father.

Harry looked her over, his mind cataloguing all the differences five years had wrought on her. She didn't look as though she had aged a day. Her black hair fell in soft curls down her back, nearly to her waist. The dark hair was a perfect counterpoint to her white A-line wrap dress and low sandal heels. Gracing her left hand was a pink sapphire and diamond wedding band, and around her neck was the star pendant he'd sent her for Christmas. Though his face remained smooth, he was taken by surprise; he hadn't really thought that she would actually wear his present. Physically, she looked no different. However, if one looked in her eyes… Behind the carefully crafted mask she wore, he could catch glimpses of what she had been through in the past five years, experiences she couldn't entirely hide- or perhaps she just chose not to hide them.

Alana took a moment to cover her shock at Harry's sudden appearance, to make sure her accustomed mask was fully in place. She folded her arms, meeting Harry's gaze impassively. He was evaluating her, clearly; comparing the reality to the memories he held, perhaps? She wondered how she stacked up. Certainly he looked no different, except… except for the eyes. There was a wariness in his eyes, an old bitterness wrought by all the trauma he had seen and had to survive. Not so different from herself, she reflected idly; they both had weaknesses to keep hidden, especially from each other.

"If I'd known the Savior would be here, I'd have worn a different dress," she said smoothly after a moment. "What brings you to mingle with us commoners?"

Harry stifled a sigh. What had he expected, a warm welcome and Alana falling into his arms? This was _Alana_, he reminded himself. The woman considered losing her self-possession a mortal sin. And they were supposed to be nothing to each other. Moreover, this was Alana at her very most guarded, something he'd not seen since their Hogwarts days. But this time, he would see through the armor, and he would have the truth.

"Is it alright that I'm here?" he asked.  
She shrugged. "I doubt I have much choice in the matter. What does the Ministry want now, for me to relocate to Siberia? I warn you, the extreme cold and the terrible Russian dental hygiene might make me more dangerous, not less."  
Harry shook his head. "The Minister doesn't know I'm here."  
"The Aurors, then?" she asked. "Checking up on their favorite menagerie animal?"  
"It has nothing to do with the Ministry," Harry said, trying to keep his impatience in check.  
"What then?" she cooly challenged him. "Wanted to be sure James isn't growing up a Death Eater?"  
"Knock it off, Alana," Harry snapped. "I came because of this."

He shoved his hand into his messenger bag and withdrew the journal. Alana's gaze fixed on it, and though her expression didn't change it seemed to Harry that she was agitated.

"What of it?" she asked, wresting her eyes from the black book to meet his gaze again.  
"Oh come off it," he retorted. "You didn't seriously think you could just send me this and that'd be the end of it? What'd you think would happen, that you'd send this out of the blue and I wouldn't follow up on it? Don't be insulting."

She knew she should never have written that damn thing.

She would have retorted, had she had a clever retort at hand. The truth was, that _was_ what she'd expected. She had written the journal after a week's worth of insomnia, setting down her side of the story as a way to ease her conscience and fulfil the promise she'd made to explain herself. Maybe she was trying to expunge the demons of the past; maybe she was just trying to understand the past. The journal had been an intellectual and emotional exercise for herself, a way to give herself closure. She'd never thought he'd actually read it, and either way, she really didn't want to open up this whole can of worms again.

"Honestly, I assumed you would use it to kindle your fireplace," she said. "So you're here to assure yourself that I didn't lie to you again," she guessed, nodding towards the journal.  
"Yes. No. I…" Harry sighed, ran an agitated hand through his unruly hair. "Have you not been reading the letters I've sent? I want us to be friends."  
Alana tilted her head. "You always did love lost causes."  
"No, at this point I think we're finally at a place where we can let go of the past and actually try to get to know each other," he countered.  
She was quiet for a moment. "The past never dies, Harry," she said philosophically. "Not really. It colors everything you do, informs every decision you make."  
"Maybe," he acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean we need to repeat the past. Besides, if you thought the situation was hopeless, why are you wearing my necklace?"

He folded his arms and raised his eyebrows in challenge, hoping that he had just scored a point with that one. Because really, it made no sense for her to wear the gift if she hated the giver, right? She looked at him thoughtfully, and though her expression of cool detatchment never altered, he sensed she was caving. He had no idea why she was, but then again, he had never understood her, and she had never explained herself to anyone except in the journal he held.

"Alright," she said. "For James."  
Harry nodded once. "For James."

That decision made, they turned and waked to the table where James and Julian were waiting for them.


	3. Dancing

**Author's Note**: I'm putting this chapter up in celebration. I very nearly scuttled the plans for P/A 3, thinking it impossible to reconcile the stories I already have with the plans for the third part. However, my main characters put up enough of a racket that I decided to stick it out. This is, however, going to require a complete rewrite of everything I've done so far- these characters have a horrible habit of doing that to me. I really should stick my Dwerger and my legions of heart-grenade weilding ducks on them. However, I will defeat them. Eventually. So it might be a little bit before my next update.

For now, though, let's focus on chapter three, shall we?

Dancing has always been a central metaphor for Harry and Alana- stepping around each other, meeting and separating in a pattern that's best appreciated from outside the situation. I've always considered their story to be an intricate dance, one where you frequently change partners and swirl around the dance floor before being reunited. I guess that's why there are so many scenes in this series where Harry and Alana end up dancing- either physically or metaphorically- around, towards and with each other. Also, as Harry remarks, it always seems that I accentuate a change in their relationship by having them dance. I guess I just fall in love with my own imagery and have to use it as often as I can get away with it. Also, for those of you who don't remember, Harry and Alana's song is _Only Hope_, by Switchfoot. With those thoughts in mind, enjoy!

* * *

01 June 2019  
Harry could see why this festival was Alana's favorite. Though the mood was jubilant, the party wasn't rowdy. There were booths of books, jewelry, food and oddities, and there was dancing. She had always loved dancing…

Not that anyone came up and asked her for a turn about the floor. It was clear that here, as in Hogwarts, Alana was an enigma, a mystery both respected and slightly feared. But unlike during her school days, she didn't try to cultivate that mystery or feed her reputation by playing the part of the icy princess of stone. She just accepted their reactions to her, almost as if she wasn't cognizant of them.

He wondered why that was. Why would Alana accept her lot as an outcast? Yes, she had once been the Lady of Darkness, the right hand of Voldemort, his most beloved Star. But she had turned her back on that life years ago. It was known that she had been instrumental in Harry's defeat of the Dark Lord. So why would she not be trying to clear her name? If not for her, than for her sons? For they were surely being hurt by association with their mother. He'd seen it at Hogwarts; despite James' inborn charm and dignity he was often shunned by members of his own House, simply because of his parentage. Why wouldn't Alana want to make it easier for her sons?

Or was it that she _couldn't_ fight it? Was the animosity against her so great that she couldn't overcome it? If that was the case, he would do what he could to change public opinion of her. The world needed to know about her what he knew, thanks to her journal, and for the sake of his son he would see it done.

At one point, James grabbed his mother's hand and dragged her out to the dance floor. She had laughed and willingly gone with him, leaving Harry with her younger son in an awkward silence.

Though his gaze was on Alana and James, Harry used his peripheral vision to consider the pale, blond Julian. It really was astonishing, how much Alana's sons took after their fathers; he couldn't see any of Alana's features in either of them. In addition to physical resemblance, it was clear that James carried a healthy portion of his father's personality. Could the same hold true for Julian?

It was Julian who broke the silence. "You're James' father," he said matter-of-factly.  
Harry turned to look at the boy and nodded. "Yeah, I am."  
Julian nodded. "My grandmother told me, after Mother came back. Mother said you knew my father, too," he said, considering Harry with gray eyes that were all too familiar.  
Harry nodded, trying not to sneer as memories of the snide, arrogant Draco floated into his consciousness. "We all went to school together," he said neutrally.  
"Mother said you and Father hated each other," Julian grinned, before glancing out at his brother and biting his lip. "I never knew my father," he said softly. "He died when I was a baby. James is lucky."

Harry blinked, realizing the truth in that. He'd read the reports of Alana's final mission as a Death Eater; Draco had died only one month after Julian was born. Though he'd never thought he would ever see the day when he saw eye-to-eye with a Malfoy, Harry could perfectly empathize with Julian's story.

"I never knew my father either," he confided. "Or my mother. They died when I was a year and a half old."  
Julian looked up at him. "Did you go live with your grandmother?"  
Harry shook his head. "I lived with Muggles."  
Julian's eyes widened. "Really?"

Harry nodded, memories of those eleven unpleasant years flashing through his mind. Julian shook his head.

"I don't think I'd like that," he said. "I like being able to do magic."  
Harry grinned. "Are you going to Hogwarts next year? Or Durmstrang?"  
"Hogwarts!" Julian nodded. "Mother promised."  
"What House do you want to get into?" Harry asked, though he already had a pretty good guess.  
"Slytherin," Julian said confidently, surprising Harry not at all. "Like my father. Though Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad."  
Harry tilted his head. "You're very much like your father, aren't you?"  
Julian nodded. "That's what Mother says."

Harry nodded. He would have replied, had the song not ended and James not led Alana back to the table.

"Not trying to corrupt my son into going into Gryffindor, are you?" Alana asked, one delicate eyebrow raising.  
"Hey!" Harry and James exclaimed at the same time in the exact same tone of voice.  
Alana blinked. "That was frightening." She shook her head. "Come, young Master Malfoy, we dance."

Julian grinned and hopped off his chair before taking his mother out to the dance floor. James shook his head and took his brother's abandoned seat, rumpling up his already unruly hair.

Harry glanced at his young son. "You and Julian get along?"  
James nodded. "I mean, we argue sometimes, but growing up he was my only real friend, and my only family. I love Grandma Narcissa, really, but.. I'm not related to her."  
Harry nodded, unsure of how to broach his intentions to his son, who was clearly his mother's protector. "James…" he said hesitantly. "What would you say if I told you I wanted to make us a family? All of us… you, your mother, Julian… Do you think your mother would allow it?"

At the mention of a 'family,' James' face glowed like the sun. At the mention of Alana, however, his face fell.

"I don't know," he said, biting his lip. "She…" he shook his head.  
Harry nodded. "I know."  
"But…" James paused, then looked up at Harry. "Julian and I both want a father, and a family."

Harry looked at his boy. There it was again, those words that he didn't know how to earn. Yes, he wanted a family- with James at least- and he wanted to be a father. But how did he go about achieving that?

"I want us to be a family too," he said slowly. "I'm not entirely sure how to do that, but… why don't we start with you calling me Dad?"  
His heart lifted as James' face brightened again. "Really?" he asked hopefully.  
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I mean, it's the truth, so why not admit it?" He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at James. "When did she tell you?"  
"That you were my father, not Draco?" James asked. "I was seven. It wasn't long after you and Mother killed… you know."  
"And… how'd you react?" Harry asked.  
"I… always kind of knew," James replied. "Grandma loved me very much, but… I knew I wasn't really a Malfoy. I mean, I look nothing like my stepfather, and other than my coloring I don't look like Mother either. I look… I look like you."

For the second time that night, a conversation was cut off by the reappearance of Alana. As Julian sat by his brother, James grinned.

"Your turn, Dad," he said innocently. "Take Mother for a dance."  
Alana raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to, James?"  
"Nothing!" he smiled.  
Her eyebrow raised further, which prompted James to hurriedly say, "We just wanted more dessert."  
Alana laughed. "Oh all right, I'll go out and pretend I can't see you getting more ice cream."

Harry smiled faintly, congratulating James on his performance. As the boys scampered off, James no doubt filling Julian in on what Harry had said, he turned his attention to Alana. His smile grew as he glanced at her, happy to see her so relaxed in comparison to earlier in the evening. So he took her hands and led the still-laughing mystery to the dance floor.

All her laughter died, however, when she heard the song that had begun to play.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said blankly. "Is this the cosmos' idea of a joke?"

Harry shook his head, and they began to dance to what the cosmos had apparently deigned their song. They avoided each others' eyes, each lost in memories of the past that was much too dangerous to revisit.

"You know what I've noticed?" he asked. "Every time we dance to this song, it means our relationship changes. I try to figure you out… and you confuse me again."  
"I should think you'd be used to it by now," she said, a light smile on her face.  
Harry nodded. "It's one of the few things I know I can expect from you."  
She bit her lip. "Look, I still don't think it can work, us being friends. But…" She sighed. "I did promise we could try. Come stay with us for a while, maybe we can work something out."  
Harry nodded again. "Alright. Do I get to work you out this time?"  
A soft laugh escaped her. "Not a chance in hell. A girl has to retain some of her mystery or all the fun goes out of life."


	4. So Very Easy

**Author's Note**: I know most people would have made more of this chapter- added much more detail, possibly even turned this into two or even three more chapters. But I wasn't really interested in the specifics for this chapter; I was much more interested in Harry's reaction to the situation he's found himself in. This is also the last chapter dedicated to establishing the world of the story; the actual meat of the plot kicks off in the next chapter, and from then on it'll be pretty much constant action. Enjoy!

**Special Thanks**: Thank you to Aaron W for your kind review. I'm glad you enjoyed Harry and Alana's reunion, and hopefully you'll like the development of their relationship. Thank you also to those who've put me on your Story Alert, I really appreciate it!

* * *

01 July 2019  
Harry stood in the room he'd occupied for the last month, blinking at the pile of letters he'd allowed to build up over the last week. Missives from the Hogwarts governors, reports that the Minister wanted his opinions on, offers from Moody for small assignments, increasingly annoyed letters from Hermione demanding to know where he was, notes from Ron asking him to come home so Hermione would shut up…

He sighed. He had put his life on hold for the past month, putting off the moment when he had to end his vacation into fantasy land.

He had meant to stay for a weekend, spend time bonding with James. He would arrange something with Alana so he had some sort of visitation rights to James, and then he'd go home to his own life.

One day with Alana Montblanc and her boys had completely changed his plans. One day was all it took for Harry to realize he was in trouble.

After that first weekend, upon seeing the misery that James couldn't quite hide at the prospect of being separated from his father, Alana had invited Harry to extend his stay with them. Caught offguard by her spontaneity- and her uncharacteristic offer- he had agreed before he had a moment to think. While Harry had Apparated home to gather together a trunk of supplies, Alana had directed the house elves in moving Harry from the small chamber at the far end of the house to a more spacious guest room closer to the family rooms. She'd even written to her probation officer, explaining that Harry had come to visit her [leaving out the bit about James being Harry's biological son, of course] and requesting that he alert whatever authorities or colleagues who would need to contact Harry as to where he would be. That taken care of, Harry had returned to Montcrief Manor to settle into his visit.

He found it easy, so very easy, to pretend that he fit into their family, that the days he spent with them meant something. They would wake up and eat breakfast together- in the kitchen, instead of the formal dining room where they took supper. Then Harry and the boys would go outside and play while Alana tended to matters in the house. Sometimes, though, they convinced her to postpone her duties, and the four of them would go tromping through the meadows and forests attached to the estate. Afternoons were dedicated to studies and practice- James had homework from Hogwarts, Julian had piano lessons. And then both of the boys would run outside, and Harry would teach them some of the finer points of Quidditch. In the evenings the boys would play games in the house, and if Alana didn't join them she was reading. After the boys went to bed, Harry and Alana would sit on the balcony with a glass of wine.

It was easy, so very easy, to pretend that he fit into their family, that the chair at the dining room table was his, that his place was beside Alana. It was idyllic here, with them, as if this place had been saved for him all these years.

But, he had to constantly remind himself, it wasn't real. He might spend his days playing Quidditch with the boys, but they weren't his sons. Alana might be relaxed and even somewhat friendly, but they were polite acquaintences at the best. This may be a perfect vacation, but it wasn't real life.

And it was easy, so very easy, to forget all of that.

Sighing and shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry walked downstairs. From the lack of sound, the boys were probably outside, which meant that Alana was likely in her office.

Alana's ground-floor study was sunny and open. It faced the south, so the room caught sun all day long, and Alana could keep an eye on the boys when they were outside. The room was painted a muted sage green, with white trim and wooden wainscoting, also painted white. The furniture had also been painted or upholstered white. On one side of the room was a fireplace with a white marble mantle, around which were clustered a pair of armchairs and a coffee table, on which were placed a few books and a small vase of wildflowers, which the boys gathered for her daily. On the other side of the room several bookshelves lined the walls, packed with the books that Alana didn't want to keep in her extensive library. Standing free before them was Alana's substantial desk and wingchair, the only things in the room she'd left in their original earth tones. The desk was free of any clutter or knickknacks; she only kept the task at hand before her, a lamp, a container for her quills, an inkstand, and another small vase of wildflowers courtesy of her sons. By the dark wood desk stood a cart with a tea service, which Alana's well-trained house elves kept perpetually fresh. In the center of the room stood a waist-high table that bore an enormous centerpiece of white and green blooms and ferns. Along the south wall were two sets of French door that opened onto the terrace that overlooked the backyard.

Harry had to smile as he walked in; the room suited Alana exactly. No wonder she spent so much time here.

The woman in question was dressed in all white, pressed linen trousers and a sleeveless cashmere top and pearls in her ears and around her wrist, her raven hair pulled into a soft French twist. She sat at her desk, leaning over a piece of parchment. Her quill moved smoothy, evenly. She was probably dealing with bills, but the moment she sensed Harry's eyes on her, she looked up and dropped her quill, flexing her fingers.

"Harry! Come in," she beckoned him.  
"You busy?" he asked as he walked in.  
Alana waved a dismissive hand. "It can wait. What can I do for you?"  
"I'm gonna head home," he replied. "In the next day or two."  
"Ah," she said.

She said nothing as she stood and fixed herself a cup of Lady Grey tea, and walked to one of the French doors, her wide-legged trousers gently swishing around her low-heeled shoes. She took a sip of her brew, her eyes on her boys.

"Have you told James?" she asked without turning.  
"Not yet," Harry replied, joining her. "I thought we should settle things first."

Alana nodded, but didn't speak. Harry paused, then spoke again.

"For the rest of the summer, it'll be very… difficult, for me to get away," he said. "Usually I split my time between Hogwarts and the Ministry."  
"And now we've cost you a month, so you'll be even busier," Alana supplied.  
"Yes," Harry nodded. "But nothing can make me regret the last month. If you and the boys could come to England-"  
"Ah, but you forget, I'm exiled from England for life," she cut in.  
"Yeah, I know, but maybe if I spoke to the Minister-" he said.  
A short laugh escaped her. "I doubt he'd agree, even for your sake. He's not exactly my biggest fan."  
One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. "Well, you _did_ try to kill him."  
An answering smile, identical to his, graced her face as she looked down into her tea. "Yes I did."

An uncomfortable silence reigned for a moment. Alana turned from the window and returned to her desk, setting her tea down and absently playing with her star pendant necklace. Harry crossed to her, leaning against the desk.

"At least let me talk to him," he said. "Maybe I can get you a temporary visa."  
She shook her head and smiled. "I wish you luck."  
He shrugged. "I'm the Savior. That's gotta count for something."

* * *

The next two days passed quickly, with Harry answering letter after letter while packing to leave. He spent a full day with the boys, promising them he would be back just as soon as he could. He left after they went to bed, a fugitive slipping into the night.

The entire trip home, he pondered the question of how to get Alana and her boys to England. If only he could persuade the English and French governments to let Alana return… but how could he assure them of her good behavior?

And why, he might add, was it so tempting to bing Alana back into his life? Why wasn't he content with what he'd achieved? Alana had agreed to an amicable relationship so Harry and James could get to know each other; he even held hopes that she would allow him to officially claim paternity over James, to make him heir to the double fortune he'd inherited from his parents and Sirius. Why not leave it at that?

Why was he so bound and determined to pick Alana apart until he understood how the pieces worked together? Why was it easy, so very easy, to fall back into her mysteries?


	5. Missives I: Are You Insane?

**Author's Note**: Okay, wow. It's been quite a while since I updated this story. My sincerest apologies. I have my reasons for being absent- trying to find a job is one, writers' block on _Destiny_ is another, the fact that I've been working like mad on a new story is a third, the fact that I've been reading far more _Alice in Wonderland_ fanfic than is healthy is a fourth. So, I'm sorry I've been gone so long. But here I am now, with a chapter for you!

There comes a point when an author will lose his or her God-given mind and do something insane. For Herman Melville it was _Moby Dick_; Stephenie Meyer just had to go for that travesty of a fourth book [and let's not mention that novella that I refuse to even pick up, let alone read]. This chapter is me doing something insane. I've seen quite a few books where an author will tell a story only through letters, memos, emails, etc. Meg Cabot does it in _Boy Meets Girl_, Avi did it in _Nothing but the Truth_, a Mauraders'-era fic named _The Shoebox Project_ does it every few chapters. I thought I'd try my hand at it. 49 letters later, this is the result. Verdict: This is the most fun I have _ever_ had writing a chapter. I trust that you won't have any trouble following who's writing to whom for what reason, but if you get lost please don't hesitate to contact me. Note: the reason it's called Missives I is because there will be another chapter written like this; chapter 13, I believe. Enjoy!

* * *

18 July 2019

Dear Mr. Potter:

Some weeks ago, you arranged an appointment with Minister Shacklebolt to discuss the Minister's proposed policy of education reforms. Given your recent absence from the country, however, the Minister is amenable to rescheduling if you so desire. Please reply by owl as soon as is convenient.

Truly yours,  
Matilda Finch  
Secretary to Kingsley A. Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

* * *

Ms. Finch—

Thank Minister Shacklebolt for his concern, but I'm perfectly able to meet him at our scheduled time. I look forward to seeing the Minister at 11 o'clock tomorrow morning.

—Harry Potter  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

Moody—

I'm going to be in the building tomorrow to meet with Kingsley. You free sometime in the afternoon? I'll take that mission in France if it's still open.

—Harry

* * *

Hermione—

I'm home, you can stop pestering me with owls now.

—Harry

* * *

Dear Mr. Potter:

I have confirmed your meeting with Department Head Moody for tomorrow at 4:30. As Head Moody is preparing to leave for Malta the day after tomorrow, he will be unable to meet with you for more than 45 minutes. We regret any inconvenience this may cause you.

Sincerely,  
Sean Fletcher  
Secretary to Alastor P. Moody, Head of the Auror Department

* * *

19 July 2019

Harry-

Where on earth have you _been_? Ron and I have been worried _sick_!

…Well, not Ron so much, but the kids and me!

Oh _alright_, maybe it was just me. But still! You can't just disappear on me like that, Harry, I get worried!

You're in trouble. Big trouble.

Meet for lunch today? You can explain where you went gallivanting off to.

-Hermione

P.S. Molly (my Molly, not Ron's, though I'm sure Mom says it too) says hello. The baby gurgles, and I'm not sure that arm spasm counts as a wave but I'm going to assume it does.

* * *

Mione—

Breathe. Y'know, that inhale-exhale thing? You're smart, you can figure out how that works.

Can't have lunch, sorry, meeting with Shacklebolt. Rain check?

Give Molly and Sev a kiss and a hug for me.

And stop sounding like Mom, you're freaking me out.

—Harry

* * *

Uncle Harry-

Mummy said you're not coming for lunch. Why not? I wanna see my favorite uncle!

I would say 'xoxo' but no hugs or kisses till you get here.

Love, Molly and Severus

* * *

Hermione—

That was a low blow. Getting your kids to do your dirty work… tsk tsk.

—Harry

* * *

Harry-

I have no idea what you're talking about. If my daughter just _happens_ to write to you, and just so _happens_ to guilt trip you, it serves you right, but I had nothing to do with it.

Shame on you for disappointing your godchildren.

-Hermione

* * *

Harry,

Thank you again for your perspective. I believe you're right about continuing the DADA class, but we'll have to further discuss the idea of a History of the Dark Arts class. Schedule another meeting with Matilda about it, would you?

As for the other matter… Have you lost your senses completely?

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Shacklebolt—

No, I'm still sane, and no, I'm not joking. I realize the Wizengamot considered her the #1 enemy of the wizarding world, but as I've explained to you, she's reformed. As you know, she willingly helped me defeat Voldemort. And she's been a model citizen since she was exiled.

Come on, Kingsley, it's _me_. Would I advocate her return to the country if I wasn't absolutely sure she was safe?

—Harry

* * *

Harry,

Have you forgotten that you are the one who advocated her exile in the first place?

You have been blinded by this woman before. Let us not forget, she was Voldemort's top Death Eater, responsible for the deaths of innocents and Order members alike. I do not believe this woman will ever truly change her ways, and as such I will not allow her anywhere near England. In France she can do no harm to anyone.

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Harry, m'boy-

You've gone daft. More cracked than I am. Let Montblanc back in the country? You must be sick. Maybe you need some more time off… Or maybe you need a job to clear your head.

Just not the one in France.

-Moody

* * *

Sean-

Sudden change of fortune here. I'll be in Malta when it's cleared up. Reschedule my golf reservations.

-Moody

* * *

Dear Mr. Potter:

This is an owl to confirm your appointment with Minister Shacklebolt on the 20th of July at 3:15. Please send a reply by owl as soon as is convenient.

Truly yours,  
Matilda Finch  
Secretary to Kingsley A. Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

* * *

Ms. Finch—

You may inform the Minister that until he agrees to my Visa and Patronage request, I am unavailable to meet with him.

—Harry Potter  
Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

* * *

Harry, m'boy-

Screw Malta. It's more entertaining here.

You're still cracked.

-Moody

* * *

Lana—

Sorry, I know I said I'd write when I got home. I'm in a bit of a battle with Shacklebolt. He's not wild about you coming back, but I'll talk him down.

Tell the boys I said hi, and I challenge them to a 2-on-1 game. I enclosed a new practice Snitch for James, and gloves for Julian.

—Hal

* * *

Hal—

I told you so.

Seriously, if it's causing that much of a stir, don't bother. As far as I know, the boys are still English citizens, and can travel back and forth. That'll do for your visitation rights, I suppose.

The boys send their greetings and thank you's. James hasn't put the Snitch down yet, and Julian wants you to teach him the Porkoff Play next time you're around.

—Lana

* * *

Shacklebolt—

She's the mother of my son, Kingsley. My _son_, whom I've not seen in five years, and whom I've never had the chance to be a father to. I want James in England. I want my son. In order for that to happen, he has to be in England. Since he's a minor, his mother needs to be with him, which also means her other son needs to come back, as well.

But none of that can happen unless the English Minister of Magic doesn't restore Alana's citizenship.

Give me my son back, Kingsley. James shouldn't be growing up without a father.

—Harry

* * *

Moody—

Change of plans. I'm staying in London and hounding Shacklebolt until he reinstates Alana's citizenship. Ron's probably about ready for a weekend job, though.

—Harry

* * *

Lana—

Porskoff Ploy. It's a Porskoff Ploy. Honestly, you've been in relationships with two Quidditch players, you don't know this by now?

I don't care if Shacklebolt's being difficult. You miss England, I can tell. I'll be damned if I don't get it for you.

—Hal

* * *

Alastor,

Have a look at this owl Harry just sent me. I think the poor lad's finally gone off his rocker.

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Won Won—

Tell Hermione she wins. Dinner at your place?

—Harry

* * *

Potter-

Will you _never_ shut up about that? Merlin, it was 14 bloody years ago!

You made Mione's night, by the way.  
Are you ill?

-Ron

* * *

Weasley Is Our King! —

Migraine. Shacklebolt and Moody are being difficult.

And why does everyone keep bloody asking me that today?

—Potter Stinks

* * *

Shacklebolt-

Fine bit of writing. Boy's mad, alright.

But maybe we should play it his way? The devil'd be easier to watch if she were back in the country, at any rate.

-Moody

* * *

Moody,

You could be right.  
Meet me for dinner, we'll discuss.

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Harry,

Even _if_ I were to consider what you asked [and that is a very big _IF_], where do you propose we put her? It's not as if we can have her living side by side with witches and wizards in peace and harmony.

Before you even think it, Hogwarts is not an appropriate answer, either.

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Shacklebolt—

In my will, I've left Grimmauld Place to Alana and James. She's been there before and she'd be comfortable there. If I remember right, that's where the Ministry had her kept seven years ago, when she was serving as a double agent and spying on Voldemort for us.

If you don't like that option, there's always her estate in Kent, but I'd imagine you'd rather have her close by so you and Moody can keep an eye on her.

—Harry

* * *

Dad:

I know it's late, you don't have to reply right away. I just wanted to say thanks for the Snitch. And Julian likes his gloves.

Are you going to be able to get back soon?

James

* * *

Hal—

A, you were both Seekers. Not Chasers.  
B, It's not as though Quidditch is very good bedroom language.

Jerk.

How goes your campaign?

—Lana

* * *

Dear Mr. Potter:

This letter is to inform you that you have been summoned to a meeting tomorrow afternoon at 4:30. In attendance will be Minister Shacklebolt and Department Head Moody. No reply owl is necessary.

Truly yours,  
Matilda Finch  
Secretary to Kingsley A. Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

* * *

Lana—

Touchy, touchy.

We'll see; I have a meeting with Shacklebolt and Moody tomorrow. I'll keep you updated.

—Hal

* * *

James—

You and your brother are welcome.

I'm working on a way for you, Julian and your mother to come back to England. Then we'd see each other a lot more often. What do you think?

—Dad

* * *

20 July 2019

Shacklebolt, Moody, I know you're both still in there.

Are you bloody _insane_?

—Harry

* * *

Harry,

When last we checked, no.  
Are you so sure about yourself, my friend?

K.S.  
A.M.

* * *

K.S. & A.M.—

I asked for a bloody reinstatement of citizenship! That's all!

—H.P.

* * *

H.P.,

My, someone's flustered.

As we explained before, it's your best bet. It lasts six months, and _if_ she has proven to be a model alien, _then_ and _only_ then will her citizenship be reinstated.

Best we can do for you.

K.S.  
A.M.

* * *

K.S. & A.M.—

You are. You are both out of your bloody minds.

—H.P.

* * *

Dad:

YES!

James

* * *

Lana—

I have an answer, but I don't think you're gonna like it.

—Hal

* * *

Hal—

Just tell me.

—Lana

* * *

Marriage visa.

* * *

Have you gone completely insane?

* * *

Probably.

I can Floo there tonight and we can discuss it?

* * *

Fine.

After the boys go to sleep.

You might need a special visa though, I can't Floo to England. I don't know if it works in reverse.

* * *

Bloody hell. I'll just Apparate.


	6. It's All Wrong

**Author's Note**: Oh my Merlin, I am so sorry for keeping you guys waiting for this chapter for so long. I don't really have an excuse, other than that I got caught up with reading stories in other genres here on ffn [mostly Covenant and Boondock Saints stuff]. However, a timely review reminded me that it's been a stupidly long amount of time since I updated, so here's chapter six for you, with a million apologies and thanks to Curly96 for jogging my memory.

About Alana in this chapter, yes I do realize that I basically repeat myself in her thought processes. That was intentional. She is by no means certain that she wants to go through with this madcap idea, so just when she thinks she's settled it, she talks herself back out of it and has to start over again. That's why I let her sound so repetitive.

* * *

20 July, 2019  
His head was reeling as he walked up the sidewalk to Monticrief Manor. It had been 72 hours exactly since he'd left, and in that time his world had been turned on its head.

The moment his foot touched the top step, the door was opened by an elderly, stooping house elf.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," she squeaked. "Young Mistress is expecting you."  
"Where is Alana?" he asked as he walked in.  
"In her study," the house elf replied, closing the door. "Gemma will tell Young Mistress that Harry Potter is here!"

So saying, the house elf disappeared with a sharp _crack!_ to go to her mistress. Harry stared at the spot where the creature had stood a moment before, musing; he vaguely remembered that Alana had once said that Gemma had cared for Alana since she was a baby, and for Alana's mother before her. Exactly how long did house elves live? Questions for Hermione, when he got home… He was interrupted in his distracted musings by another _crack!_

"Come with me, Harry Potter!" Gemma squeaked. "Young Mistress is waiting for Harry Potter in the study. Does Harry Potter want any food or drinks?"  
"No, thanks, I'm good," he said, following the house elf as she pattered down the hall.

Gemma opened the door to the study, ushering Harry inside before turning her attention to her mistress.

"Young Mistress should not stay up too late," she admonished, as if Alana were still a child. "Young Mistress has a long day tomorrow."  
"I won't be up much longer, Gemma," Alana replied without turning, though Harry could see the smile in her voice. "Could you bring up a mug of hot cocoa to my room?"  
"Young Mistress knows she should not be drinking cocoa this late!" Gemma said. "Just a little mug, then. And no marshmellows."  
"Thank you, Gemma," Alana said as the house elf departed.

For a long moment, Harry merely stood in the middle of the room, observing Alana as she stared into space. She was curled up in one of the armchairs before the banked fire, clad only in a white silk nightdress and robe. Her curly black hair fell loose over one shoulder, and her arms were loosely wrapped around one bent leg. She was looking into the fire, her face and the set of her shoulders suggesting she was pensive, lost in something long ago and far away.

He walked over to her quietly, and silently sat in the other armchair. She didn't look at him as she spoke.

"A marriage visa," she said quietly. "How would it work?"  
"It's a six-month visa," he replied. "Conditional alien status, gets you and the boys into the country and lets you stay there while the papers get pushed around the Ministry. I'd be your patron, we'd have an official assigned to us to watch you, make sure you assimilate into the culture. At the end of the six months, if the Ministry approves you, your citizenship is restored."

Alana leaned back in her seat, twisting her ridiculously ornate wedding ring [Voldemort's purchase, not Draco's] around her finger. The more she thought, the more she twisted the ring.

Did she want to get married? Absolutely not. She had married once- on the Dark Lord's orders, yes, but she had truly and honestly loved Draco. She had put her entire being into that marriage, and in a very real way she had died along with Draco. She had never planned on marrying again. Besides, marrying Harry so she could be reinstated as an English citizen… that wasn't a good reason for letting someone into her life.

But then she happened to look up, and her gaze fell on a picture of her sons. James and Julian grinned and waved at her, and she was lost. James needed his father, and Julian needed his father's legacy. Both could be found in only one place, and there was only one way Alana could get them there.

"Alright," she said quietly. "For the boys."

It took Harry a moment to regain his bearings; he hadn't thought she would actually agree to Shacklebolt's scheme. She must have wanted home very badly.

"Alright," he nodded. "As long as we act married, no one will pay much attention. Marriage of convenience only."  
Alana nodded. "I don't want to tell the boys," she said. "I don't know how they'd feel about it. Especially Julian."  
Harry nodded. "Okay. I'll go take care of the paperwork, and I'll come for you and the boys in a day or two."  
Alana nodded once, biting her lip. "Thank you, Harry. You didn't have to do this."  
"Yes I did," Harry said. "For James."

They nodded at each other, each clear on why they were agreeing to marriage this time. And then, Harry was gone.

He prayed Ginny would forgive him, he mused as he walked into Grimmauld Place. It wasn't really a marriage; it was a contract, an agreement made for reasons that had nothing to do with Alana and everything to do with James. Maybe Ginny would understand that this marriage wasn't a real one, that Alana had nothing to do with what they were going to do. He wasn't marrying her for the reasons he'd married Ginny; it wasn't because of love. Not like he had once wanted to do.

Still, it felt like a betrayal of his vows to Ginny, to make those same vows with Alana. Did the emptiness of this forthcoming wedding demean the true marriage he'd had with Ginny? Or could that question only be answered by his attitude towards the situation?

* * *

21 July 2019  
She hadn't slept.

The sky had darkened, the moon had risen and fallen, the sky had lightened. But Alana hadn't slept. She had gone from her study to her bedroom, but she'd never gone upstairs with the intention to sleep. Hidden in a locked compartment of the trunk at the foot of her bed was a photo album- her wedding album. For all the hours between Harry's visit and the currently encroaching dawn, Alana had been flipping through the pictures, her mind racing her memories and speculations.

She couldn't believe the Ministry was trying to push her into this. Moreover, she couldn't believe she was considering it. The Ministry had to be thinking that she would never consent to such a thing- and if that was the case, then they knew her incredibly well. It wasn't a marriage they offered her, and certainly not a wedding.

Then again… Alana flipped another page, her face thoughtful. The Dark Lord certainly hadn't intended for Draco and Alana to have a marriage, either. No one had thought of their happiness when the plan to breed them and bind them had been made, and that had turned out alright.

Then again… She sighed as she turned to one picture in particular. It was a shot of her and Draco, literally five minutes after they'd been made husband and wife. They were looking at each other, with eyes for nothing but each other, and they were smiling; Alana pushing her lace veil out of her face as Draco's hand rested on the gentle swell of her abdomen. They had pushed to be wed as soon as possible after Harry's defeat, in order to protect James' supposed paternity.

If pictures were taken of this wedding, there would be no pictures like this, because Alana wasn't in love with her intended groom.

Alana frowned. Listen to her thoughts, she sounded as though she were considering this ludicrous proposal! She wasn't going to marry Harry, and that was final, no matter what she'd agreed to.

A glance at the portrait above her fireplace settled everything.

It was a portrait Alana had had commissioned six years ago, of herself and the boys. She sat in a chair, her boys lounging on either side of her. Beside each son, painted as a spectre, was his father.

Draco truly was dead, and Alana wouldn't love again. But Harry lived, and had a son who both desired and deserved to know him. Compared to James' right to his heritage and his father, what importance was Alana's preferences? None at all.

So. Alana would marry Harry.

Now… how on earth was she going to explain this to her boys?

James would surely be overjoyed that his father would be in his life. But what about Julian? He didn't neatly fit into the family that Alana and Harry had made once upon a time. He was an anomaly; one had only to look at his white-blond hair to realize that he didn't belong to James' father. If Harry joined their lives, what could be done about Julian?

Dawn came, and Alana ran out of time to think. The boys were coming down for breakfast, and they would have to be told. She had to put aside her own fears and take control. She had to at least look like she knew what she was doing.

"Morning, Mother!" the boys chirped as she walked into the dining room.  
"Good morning, my loves," Alana greeted them, kissing each of her boys on the forehead before taking her seat at the head of the table. "I have something to discuss with you."

James and Julian exchanged quick glances, and Alana could've sworn she saw guilt flash through their eyes. But she didn't want to know what mischief they'd gotten into now.

"I've received a… proposition, from the English Ministry of Magic," she said slowly, considering the best way to phrase her decision. "Harry's found a way for me to return to England. Would you boys like that?"  
Julian blinked, his gray eyes wide. "We can go home?"  
"Mhm," Alana nodded. "What do you think?"  
"YES!" both boys yelled.  
Alana laughed shortly. "That settles it, then. We'll live with Harry; the Minister's appointed him as our protector."

_Close enough_, she thought to herself, pleased with herself for having thought that white lie up.

At the mention of his father, James' whole face lit up. "Live with Dad? In London?" he asked, the hope clear in his voice.  
Alana nodded. "Would you be okay with that, Julian? Living with Harry?"

James bit his lip and looked at his little brother, knowing that Julian's decision would be final. If Julian didn't like Harry, there was no way their mother would move into Grimmauld Place, and Harry would always be distant and out of reach.

Julian looked up at Alana. "Will you take me to Malfoy Manor sometimes?"  
Alana nodded, smiling. "And your dad's and my house, where we lived when you were born."  
Julian nodded. "Then… okay."

And with that, Julian gave Alana the permission she hadn't been able to give herself.

* * *

24 July 2019

The chapel was small and dark, lit with only a handful of candles. Other than the priest, the only witnesses were the English Minister of Magic, the French Presidente of the Wizarding Government, and the English Head of the Auror Department. The bride wore a sleeveless, v-neck black dress that fell to her knees, her only jewelry being the star pendant her intended had given her last Christmas; the groom wore jeans. They exchanged unadorned gold bands, and the ceremony lasted only 10 minutes.

Alana was half-convinced that she was dreaming. This quiet, somber ceremony couldn't possibly be binding and real; it was an echo of a dream, a hollow mockery of what she had once wanted.

She hadn't allowed herself to think for the past three days. She had had to undergo a series of meetings with various government officials, which she found amusing since no government would claim her as a citizen. Every last one of them had treated her as though she were a leper or a pariah. She had had to sign documents, take oaths, undergo binding spells that prevented her from being a menace to either England or France.

She had had three days to pack up Monticrief Manor, to decide what she and the boys were bringing with them to England. As Alana wouldn't be allowed to leave England for the next six months without Shacklebolt's express permission except in case of extreme emergency, it was rather important that she remember everything.

She and Harry had kept a constant flow of owls going for the last three days, ironing out details. She and the boys were moving into Grimmauld Place for the summer; they would all relocate to Hogwarts come September [how Harry intended to get around the rule stipulating she couldn't leave England, she had no idea]. The rest they'd deal with later.

Ten minutes and two vows later, and it was done.

And none of it seemed real.

This was what she had wanted, once; to pledge herself to Harry, to wear his ring on her finger, to bear his name, to start a new life with him. But this was wrong, all wrong. They weren't supposed to wed like this- empty vows made only to bring father and son together. The whole thing was a meaningless sham, a farce. But instead of laughing, Alana thought she might scream.

"You are now husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Alana turned to Harry, thinly veiled panic in her eyes. She had forgotten about this… He gave her an apologetic glance, but there was nothing to be done. They had scrupulously avoided physical contact for the past month, and now they found themselves indulging in the most intimate kind of convergence. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his; gentle, a passing caress, empty.

It was done. They were married.

And he had never been more of a stranger to her.

She was drowning, choking, burning, being buried alive. It wasn't real, none of it had any meaning. What did she have to hold onto? She was spinning out of control, and all she could do was hold the hand of the stranger she'd married.


	7. Homecoming

**Author's Note**: And here's chapter seven! I quite like this chapter, despite the fact that it's really short. There's a moment between Harry and Alana that I simply adore, both for its simplicity and for its significance. Other than that, I don't have much to say, so happy reading! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

24 July 2019

Married.  
He was married.  
Harry and Alana were married, twelve years too late.

Fifty-four days ago, he had boarded a train in Scotland, determined to learn the truth about Alana. Maybe he had built up too many expectations in his mind, but he'd thought he'd be able to see Alana for what she truly was, and then leave her where she belonged- in the past. He would have his answers, his son, and his closure, and the could leave it at that, and finally be able to move on.

Fifty-four days later, and he was no closer to that goal. And now he was married to this mysterious and painful reminder of a time in his life he'd done his best to forget.

It was an empty promise, he reminded himself; a marriage of convenience for one purpose only, to get Alana back to England so he could be closer to James. The marriage meant nothing other than that, and they didn't even have to acknowledge that it had happened.

But even if they didn't talk about it, the fact remained that they were married, in a horrible mockery of their situation twelve years ago. And even if they never spoke of it, Harry knew, and it bothered him that fate had seen fit to give him this slap in the face.

Harry glanced at his bride as they walked back to Monticrief Manor. She showed no signs of stress; she looked completely serene. It was a change he'd noticed about her; once upon a time Alana had fought against her created destiny, tried to forge her own path. Now, she simply accepted what life threw at her, and she adapted. He wondered whether or not that was a good change. Did it show that she had in some way grown up, learned to compromise? Or did it simply mean that something that had been essential to her makeup had been broken, changing her irrevocably and leaving her unwilling- or unable- to fight anymore?

The silence turned awkward as Alana led Harry upstairs. They were both very well aware that it was their wedding night, and both knew full well what a bride and groom traditionally did on this night- what _they_ used to do at night, marriage or no.

"You should find everything you need in the trunk at the foot of the bed," Alana said, opening the door to the guest room.  
"Right. Thanks," he said, stepping inside.  
"Well… goodnight," she said awkwardly.  
"Night," he said.

There was a brief, awkward pause as they shifted, unsure how to take leave of each other. Harry leaned down to kiss her cheek, and somehow their lips met. They froze for a minute before hurriedly pulling away. An awkward laugh, and then Alana hurried down the hall and Harry retreated into his room, unsure of what had just happened and if it had meant anything.

* * *

27 July 2019  
He had hoped that he could get Alana back into the country quietly, that no one would pay any attention. He should have known better; he was the bloody Savior. His every move was analyzed and chronicled. And where Harry was adored and revered, Alana was infamous and feared.

It seemed as though the moment they'd set foot on English soil, everyone had known that the infamous Death Eater Lady Montblanc was back. Only people's fear of Alana kept them from forming a mob. Still, Harry got her and the boys to Grimmauld Place as quickly as he possibly could, for the millionth time loathing his celebrity and the many bloody inconveniences it caused him.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," he said, collapsing in his chair after directing the boys to their rooms.  
Alana raised a delicate eyebrow. "How long before we're swamped with Howlers and Hermione's bursting through the door?"

He groaned, dropping his head onto the table. She laughed softly, walking to him and massaging his shoulders. He sighed, relaxing into her touch, allowing her to remove the stress of the past ten days. It was a surprisingly peaceful shared moment, and the first time in years that Harry could believe that he and Alana were living in the same moment and the same world. For this one moment at least, they were in this together… whatever it was that _this_ was. After a few moments, the massage ceased, and Alana's arms were simply wrapped loosely around his shoulders. He rose a hand and rested it on hers, and they simply stayed like that, sharing the silence and the comfort in the touch.

But of course the peace didn't last.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!"  
"Good Salazar, she does sound like Molly, doesn't she?" Alana mildly observed, going to put the kettle on.

Harry raised his head just in time to see Hermione charge into the kitchen, Ron in her wake. The men exchanged a brief glance but both knew better than to speak, choosing through long years of experience to remain silent until Hermione had finished her first wind of berating Harry. Just as she opened her mouth, however-

"Hermione, Ron, how nice to see you both. Come sit down. You will be joining us for supper, of course?" Alana asked smoothly.

Hermione stared between Harry and Alana blankly, then slowly sat down. Grimacing faintly, Ron sat beside her, patting her back. Taking that as assent to dinner, Alana walked back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her as if she knew that she was going to be talked about.

"So the rumors are true?" Ron asked, his face and voice unreadable. "She's back. And… and you're _married_."  
"It's true," Harry confirmed.  
"_Why_?" Hermione breathed.  
Harry sighed; could he even explain to himself? "I want my son. I want to fix things with my son's mother. I couldn't do that," he continued as Ron opened his mouth, "unless Alana was in England. Shacklebolt's the one who arranged for a marriage visa- if Alana behaves for six months, her citizenship will be restored."

Hermione, for once, was speechless. She leaned back in her seat, silently staring at him. There were a million questions in her eyes- questions that she didn't have words to ask, questions for which Harry had no answers.

"So we'll eat a dinner to welcome your bride home, then?" Ron asked, unresolved anger lurking behind his eyes.  
"No," Harry shook his head. "The boys don't know, and we're keeping it that way. Marriage of convenience, nothing else."

None of them said anything, but each was remembering a period of time twelve years ago, when not only had Alana and Harry been engaged, but they'd believed Alana had betrayed them all Could it be possible that history was doomed to endlessly repeat itself?

* * *

Dinner seemed to take forever- making polite small talk with people she hadn't seen in five years, people she knew still hated her and probably always would. She couldn't blame Ron and Hermione for how they felt about her; based on what they knew of her, their reactions were to be expected. Perhaps she was surprised that Harry hadn't informed them of what she had revealed to him, but that was really none of her business. In any case, she didn't care what they thought of her; she never had, not even when they were all at Hogwarts together. Still, it wasn't much of a wedding feast [not that she'd been expecting one], and as the night wore on Alana felt more and more out of place.

She excused herself once coffee was served, leaving the Golden Trio to their reminiscing of the old days, perfectly secure in the knowledge that they wouldn't miss her. She walked up to her room- hers and Harry's old room [Harry had taken over Sirius' quarters]. She changed quickly into a green tunic top and jean capris, and Disapparated, going to the place where she knew she would be accepted.

She sank down beside Draco's grave, pulling out her wand and transfiguring a blade of grass into a white rose, which she lay at the base of the headstone. Salazar, had it really been five years since she was here last? It seemed like a lifetime.

"Hello, love," she whispered. "I'm home."

She rested her head against the gravestone, closing her eyes and pretending that the sultry breeze was actually Draco caressing her. Home again… and wed to Draco's bitterest enemy. What an ironic joke the universe had played on her. It felt like a betrayal- an even worse betrayal than when she had actually loved Harry. And yet, if she hadn't betrayed Draco by marrying Harry, she never could have come home to Draco.

"Forgive me," she whispered. "He's the means to an end, Drake, no more. And I mean it this time."

Her fingers closed around the wedding and engagement rings Draco had given her, which she had strung onto a chain and put around her neck. Had this marriage to Harry meant anything, she would have put Draco's rings away. Since it was an empty contract, she felt no shame in keeping her old rings with her. She may be married to Harry, but she was in love with Draco. Still, and always.

Alana sighed, blinking back tears that she could never allow to fall. How she wished she could stay here forever. Draco was here, and Blaise and Emily; nearly everyone she had cared for in her life was now dead and gone. And she, by her own choice, was condemned to life. Was she always to yearn for what she couldn't have?


	8. Hero's Calling

**Author's Note**: And now, at long last, the plot has arrived! Or, at least, a plot that doesn't have to do with Harry and Alana relationship angst. Yep, we're kicking off with Death Eater trouble. Yay! Angst and Pain and Grief and Death!

This chapter also introduces a new OC. Roman Corona is kind of a pet character of mine within the Potterverse. In several of the HP stories I'm planning to write, he's going to turn up in one way or another [because if the formula works, use it]. His play-by is Chris Pine. His role is likely to become more important as I continue editing future chapters.

Concerning updates, I realized this morning that I have a lot more editing to do than I originally thought. Mostly concerning this Death Eater subplot. On the plus side, it means you're going to get one more chapter than I originally planned [and it's going to be another Missives chapter, to boot]. On the minus side, it means I have a lot of writing to do, including completely rewriting the last two chapters, because one of my characters decided to play the hero when they weren't supposed to. I'll try and do it as quickly as possible, I promise. If I'm slow posting chapters, that's why.

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I stole the name for the Spanish version of Azkaban from Pirates of the Caribbean. Shh.

* * *

27 July, 2019  
Auror Roman Corona stood in the midst of the chaos, feeling utterly and completely lost. His surroundings looked like something out of a nightmare, or worse yet, like a memory.

The English Auror was 37 years old, a veteran of the Second War against Voldemort. He had seen plenty of gruesome things in his time, but he had been sure after Harry Potter defeated Voldemort that he'd never have to see such brutality again. Yet here he was, in the destroyed remains of a once-gracious hacienda, and old fears were being disturbed once again.

He knew the signs of a Death Eater attack; he doubted anyone in his generation could ever forget. Violent entry in the middle of the night. Destroyed furniture. Signs of struggle. And then…

The bodies had been sent to the experts in the Ministry already, but preliminary results had confirmed Roman's fears. It seemed impossible, but it was undeniably true.

The house belonged to Hector Ramirez and his family- his wife Maria, son Manuel, and daughter Isobel. Hector had been a lawyer for the Spanish Magical Courts, well-known for his role in sending over 30 Death Eaters to Isle de Muerta, the Spanish version of Azkaban. From what Roman had seen before the bodies were removed, Maria and the children had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, and then the entire family had been murdered with the Killing Curse.

It shouldn't have been possible. Sure, not all of the Death Eaters were accounted for. But to wage such an attack as this, on a world that was supposed to be at peace…

Attacks like this had been happening for the past three months. One here, two there, spaced out in time and location so that most people were content to write the deaths off as unfortunate accidents. The papers refused to cover the attacks; even when government officials were killed it was called some kind of accident. The journalists refused to believe that the attacks were related, and the Presidente was turning a blind eye. It drove Roman up the wall; the bloody Spanish. This would never have happened in England…

Roman sighed. Unfortunately, if he were in England, there would be no one to even investigate these murders. So even though being these scenes reawakened old nightmares, he would put his nightmares to work in order to get to the bottom of whatever was going on here. It was, after all, the reason that the Ministry had assigned him to Spain.

Roman turned to his assistant, running a tired hand through his black hair. "Let's get the Spell Detection Squad in here, and get back to the office. Tell Amelia to put the paperwork on my desk."

He let his blue eyes roam over the scene one more time. Something was happening, and it had to be dealt with, quickly, before it got out of hand.

* * *

29 July 2019

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in his office behind his impressive desk, a sheaf of reports in his hands. Before him sat Department Head Alastor Moody, who was using his magical eye to read the reports Shacklebolt held. They sat patiently, awaiting the arrival of their top Aurors in order to begin their meeting.

Moments later, ex-Auror Potter and the Aurors Weasley walked through the door. Shacklebolt looked up, taking a moment to marvel at the fact that the Golden Trio had grown up. Merlin, did they make him feel old…

"Morning, all," Harry said as he, Ron and Hermione seated themselves.  
"How's married life treatin' yeh, Harry?" Moody smirked.  
Harry glared at his mentor, shifting in his seat. "Shove off. Now what's going on, Shacklebolt? Aren't I retired from the Aurors?"  
"Some retirement," Moody chuckled. "Taking jobs whenever you can get away from Hogwarts, getting married, working on adoption papers…"  
Moody would have continued, but Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "We're getting very strange reports from an Auror of ours in Spain," he rumbled in his deep baritone. "Take a look at these, tell me what you think."

Hermione took the proffered reports, and three heads bent together to study them. Shacklebolt and Moody exchanged glances; Godric's sword but did some things never change. Hermione's head shot up, and she looked at her two best friends before looking at Shacklebolt.

"It looks like… like the things we used to see, before," she said hesitantly.  
Moody nodded. "That's what Corona fears."  
"Well, if Auror Corona is the one saying it, we'd best pay attention," Hermione replied, biting her lip. "He was always very good at determining Death Eater activity."  
"But how is that possible?" Harry asked, running a hand through his messy hair. "Their Lord is dead, for real this time. Has been for years. Why resurrect a dead cause?"  
"Well, I imagine they've been very angry," Hermione said. "Maybe this is someone- or a group of someones- lashing out."  
"But look at this here," Ron countered. "Corona thinks this wouldn't be happening unless they had enough support to start an uprising."  
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Harry exclaimed, standing and beginning to pace. "Will they never give it a rest?"

For a moment, silence reigned as they all acknowledged the Savior's point. Then Hermione drew a breath.

"What do you want us to do?"  
"We need someone to help Corona figure out what the bloody hell is going on in Spain," Moody replied.  
"And you want us?" Harry asked. "We're kind of famous, wouldn't we just make things worse?"  
"Your fame would be an advantage," Moody said. "We could make it look as though you're only vacationing. But Death Eaters knowing the Savior is near- could make them act early."  
Harry nodded, acknowledging the point. "But what about Hogwarts? And Alana and the boys?"  
"You'd only be gone for a few weeks," Shacklebolt said. "You'd return with plenty of time to set Hogwarts in order. Alana will remain in England, under our protection."  
Harry sighed. "Let me think about it."  
Shacklebolt nodded. "Give me an answer by tomorrow."

* * *

Harry sighed heavily as he walked into Grimmauld Place. He'd been tired and in a bad mood since that afternoon's meeting with Shacklebolt and Moody.

What answer would he give them? Were he younger, he wouldn't hesitate to go traipsing off to all parts of the world. But now… now he had Hogwarts, and he had his son, and he found he really didn't want to handle the storm that was surely brewing.

He walked into the kitchen, to find Alana making dinner while brewing a potion at the same time. At Harry's puzzled look, she explained.

"It's Skele-Grow. Julian broke his arm falling off his broom and James confused his spells."  
Harry laughed softly. "He alright?"  
"He will be," she said. "You remember how this works."  
Harry shuddered; he did indeed. "Poor guy."  
"What did the Minister want?" Alana asked as she stirred the potion cauldron.  
"Oh. There's something happening in Spain, he and Moody want me, Ron and Mione to check it out," he sighed.

He didn't miss how Alana stiffened, how every muscle seemed to tense. But before he could question her reaction, there was a whimper from upstairs, and she was gone in a flash.

He finished making supper as Alana tended to the boys, both of whom were confined to their rooms for the night. Hary brought up food for the boys, sneaking them candy while he was at it [lemon drops for Julian, Bertie Botts' for James], then he and Alana went downstairs for their supper.

"Spain," Alana said as she poured herself a glass of dark red wine.  
"Yeah," Harry nodded, pouring himself some firewhiskey. "Deaths, attacks… it's like five years ago all over again."  
Alana winced; she knew better than most how brutal the Death Eaters could be. "So they want you to investigate."  
Harry nodded. "I think I'm gonna say no."  
Alana furrowed her brow. "What? Why?"  
"From what I read, it looks like a small group of Death Eaters causing trouble," he said. "Aurors can handle that, me being there would just complicate things."  
"Do you actually believe that?" Alana asked. "_You_? The Savior of the wizarding world, and you don't think rebelling Death Eaters is an issue?"  
"Not a big enough issue for the Savior to get involved," Harry maintained.  
"Ah," Alana said. "So that's what this is about. You don't want to play the hero again."  
"I've never seen the appeal of being a hero," he said. "It's messy and painful."  
Alana sighed. "Yes it is. And it's unfair to place such a burden on you again, after everything you've endured. But Harry, people need heroes. Someone they can put their hope in. And for better or worse, you're the Chosen One. Whether you like it or not, people are going to look to you for a solution."

Harry sighed, knowing Alana was right and hating it.

"That's a very un-Alana-like speech," he said, tilting his head curiously.  
She stared into the ruby depths of her wine as she answered him, her voice low as her fingers curled around the star pendant that hung around her neck. "It's what I've thought for years. Ever since we were 19. I believed in you while I was living that charade, needed to trust in you. I still believe in you."

He stared at her. He'd been expecting a flippant, shallow response; he'd become used to only seeing the surface with his wife, to never seeing behind her carefully constructed mask. This unexpected self-disclosure drove home the point that he truly didn't know much of anything about the stranger he'd married.

He walked over to her and gently lifted her chin, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Lana, do you think I need to go to Spain?" he asked, locking eyes with her.  
She hesitated, then nodded. "Spain was always a hotbed for Death Eater activity. If a rebellion is starting there, it won't be long before it speads to the rest of Europe. Save them, Hal."

He nodded slowly, acquiescing. What made him do it? He didn't know, but he obeyed the impulse, bending down to capture her lips with his.

The kiss lasted only a second, but that was more than long enough for Harry to realize what he was doing. Good Godric, was he actually kissing his wife? They both pulled away, then quickly turned and went their separate ways- Alana to her chamber, Harry to his office to prepare to save the world one final time. All of a sudden, leaving for Spain couldn't come fast enough…


	9. No Mistakes This Time

**Author's Note**: What? An update already? Well, yes. I just finished writing that chapter I realized I had to add into the story, and it made me so happy that I'm posting this chapter to celebrate. Also, this will have to tide you over for a while, as I'm taking off to spend a few days with my sister at my alma mater [yay Homecoming weekend!]. When I get back from that, I'll continue on with editing [I'm up to chapter 16 of 21, and I'm facing a monster of a chapter with chapter 20]. So, do please read on and enjoy!

* * *

30 July 2019  
Minister Shacklebolt looked up as Harry walked into his office, his dark, matured face grave as he tore his eyes off of the reports he'd been handed that morning.

"I'm in," Harry said.  
Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement. "I was hoping you'd say so." He pushed the reports to the younger man. "One of our Aurors was killed in Madrid last night. A member of Corona's team."  
"Shit," Harry muttered as he looked over the papers.  
Shacklebolt nodded, sighing. "If Aurors are being targeted, the situation is more serious than we thought. Can you leave immediately?"

Alana had told him that the boys were planning him a surprise party for his birthday tomorrow. But if he was taking them on vacation, perhaps the party could be postponed?

"I'll be ready tonight," he nodded.  
"Good," Shacklebolt said. "You'll meet Auror Corona in Grenada, then he'll take you to Madrid. Most of the activity is centered on the Spanish-French border, they must have some form of aid in France. You'll need to learn what they're up to-"  
"What about Alana and the boys?" Harry asked.  
Kingsley's face tightened ever so slightly. "They will remain here, as we discussed. Lady Malfoy must stay within English borders until the visa is up."  
"What about when September rolls around?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hogwarts is in Scotland."  
"We will discuss it when September nears," Kingsley said. "Until then, she stays here. We will guard her in your absence."

He could read right through that one, Harry thought to himself. Shacklebolt didn't trust Alana not to rejoin the Death Eaters. He wouldn't be surprised if Kingsley thought Alana was supporting the Death Eaters through her former home in France. The Ministry would keep incredibly close tabs on Alana while he was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Strangely, he found that it made him angry; why should Alana have to deal with such prejudice?

And yet, what could he do to change people's minds? He could state a thousand times that he trusted her with his life- which oddly enough, he found that he did- but he couldn't change what was in people's thoughts. If they had determined to hate her, he was powerless to stop them.

"Will I have any backup?" Harry asked, getting back to the topic at hand.  
"No," Kingsley said. "Since the Presidente refuses to ask for help, the only official jurisdiction we have is to investigate the Auror's death and bring him home. Anything else has to be off the books."

Harry groaned softly; this would be a pain of a situation.

* * *

Alana looked up as the door opened, a faint smile growing as Harry walked into the living room.

"I was starting to wonder when you'd get home," she said, rising.  
"I have to leave tonight," Harry said bleakly. "An Auror was killed last night."

The smile slid off Alana's face as a vague, uneasy fear began to rise in her chest. She knew full well that if Aurors were dying, the situation was getting serious.

Oddly, she found that she was incredibly reluctant to let Harry leave, to risk his safety again. She'd been like this ever since the [confusing, pointless, meaningless] kiss, and she didn't understand it. Why was she acting like a blushing schoolgirl with her first crush? She felt nothing even remotely romantic for her pseudo-husband, why was she reacting like this?

"Oh," she said blankly. "Of course. What happens to the boys and me?"  
Harry cleared his throat. "You'll stay here. When September comes, Shacklebolt will probably have you come to Hogwarts with the boys and me. Er… is there any way the boys can throw the party now?"  
"I'll go see," she said.

The party ended up being very small and quiet- Ron, Hermione and their children, Molly and Arthur, George and his family. They had supper, Harry got his presents, and they sat around talking, reminiscing about Hogwarts and the glory days.

Alana glanced at the clock and stood. "Bedtime, boys."  
"Aww, Mother," James whined.  
"Nope," she shook her head, deaf to the boys' pleas.

With a sigh of defeat they stood, James stepping forward and hugging Harry.

"Night, Dad," he said. "Happy Birthday."  
"Thank you, James," Harry smiled, ruffling James' hair and kissing his forehead. "I'll be home soon."

Alana could feel the partygoers' eyes on her, watching her reaction to this touching scene of domesticity. She refused to pander to them and their watching her like a menagerie animal. She masterfully kept her serene mask in place as she ushered her sons upstairs.

She supervised the nighttime ritual of pushing, slapping, face washing, poking, teeth brushing, pinching, giggling, changing, racing and leaping into beds with a smile. Everything was topsy-turvy, but here with her sons everything was alright, it felt like nothing had changed.

"Mother, why is Dad going?" James asked, sitting against the headboard.  
"The Minister of Magic asked him to check on something," she said. "He shouldn't be gone long."  
"Then why can't we go with him?" James pressed.  
"My visa," Alana supplied, taking the fall for Harry. "I have to stay here, and since you're my sons you have to stay with me."  
"Stupid Ministry," James grumbled.

Alana's lips quirked in a smile; she had to say she agreed with James' assessment.

"Mother?" Julian piped up suddenly. "Will you tell us a story?"

It was an old ritual of theirs; once, Alana had told her boys bedtime stories nightly, lulling them to sleep among images of ogres and pirates. Lately, that practice had petered off, but Alana wasn't about to ask questions if Julian was reviving it.

"Of course, darling," she said, not missing a beat as she sat at the foot of Julian's bed. "What would you like?"  
"Dragons," James grinned. "And treasure."  
"And our fathers," Julian added, as he usually did.

Alana promptly launched into it, making it up off the top of her head with the ease of long years of practice. Somewhere between a dragon named Tom and twin princes named Harry and Draco who bickered like James and Julian, and who had to quit their fighting and work together to defeat the dragon, the boys drifted off, their breathing deepening and allowing Alana to follow their progress to true sleep.

Alana smiled, letting the tale die. She tucked Julian in with a kiss to his pale forehead, then turned and sat on the edge of James' bed, gently smoothing her elder son's unruly black hair.

She bit her lip as bitterness against the Ministry welled up in her chest. She knew it was irrational, but she was furious with the Ministry for offering Harry this job, and even more furious with Harry for accepting it. How could they do this to her, to James? She'd gone along with the Minister's madcap scheme to bring Harry and James together, and now the Minister was separating them again. How could he do it?

Alana's mind drifted to Spain. This mission would be dangerous, she knew it; even if Harry didn't court trouble [and that hope had as much chance as a snowball's chance in Hell], he'd be in danger simply because of who he was. What if he died? The thought made Alana's blood run cold. What if she and Harry lost everything they'd been working for before any of it came to fruition? Could she allow Harry to undertake this mission, given all they stood to lose?

Did she have the right to demand that he stay?

She stayed upstairs until everyone left, fully aware that she didn't belong among the circle of Harry's family. In truth, she needed the time to compose herself, to quiet the questions raging in her mind and to stifle her reservations. When she finally came downstairs, she found Harry in the hall, preparing to leave. She quietly watched him check everything, then bit her lip, fiddling with the pendant around her neck. She didn't know why, but she found herself wearing Harry's necklace quite often now. Not every day, but often enough that it was obvious that the jewelry meant something to her. Just what it meant… just what _he_ meant… she wasn't sure, but it seemed to please him that she wore his present.

"Harry?" she said quietly. "You will… you'll be careful?"  
He nodded. "As careful as I can be."  
"That's not very reassuring, coming from you," she replied, a light smirk on her face although it looked forced.  
One corner of his mouth quirked. "I'll write."

She nodded, watching him. For a moment they stood, trapped in each others' gazes, before moving as one and meeting in the middle. He groaned and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

As suddenly as the kiss began, it ended, and Harry had Disapparated before she could draw a breath. She stared at the spot he had been standing blankly, unable to comprehend what had happened or why. After a moment, she silently turned and walked upstairs to spend a sleepless night wondering what was wrong with her.

* * *

The office was dark, lit only by the glowing coals of the fireplace. The Spanish Presidente of the Wizarding Government sat behind his desk, his eyes blank, his form utterly still.

When all of his secretaries and underlings were gone for the night, the Presidente stood. He moved smoothly, robotically, no emotion on his face as he walked to the fireplace. His expression didn't alter as he pushed back his sleeve to reveal a Dark Mark, nor yet when he took a pin from the mantel and drove it into the skull's eye, where there was an angry red wound from many previous jabs. Silently, the Presidente squeezed his blood into the fire, then knelt as a face appeared.

"This had best be important," she sneered.  
"He has come, my Lady," the Presidente said in a gravelly, unemotional voice. "Harry Potter. Exactly as you said he would."  
The Lady's face broke into a delighted, if demented, smile. "Well done, my pet!" she crowed.  
"The Star is not with him," the Presidente reported to his mistress.  
The Lady made a face, but shrugged. "No matter, we will lure her in later. I want Potter followed. When the time is right, we will eliminate him. No mistakes this time."


	10. Help

**Author's Note**: There are two reasons you're getting this chapter. One, I'm on the east coast and I have my internet back, wahoo! Two, I've _finally_ finished the edits for chapter 18- it took me for-bloody-ever because I had to add so many scenes and even rewrite parts of what I'd already had. So, in celebration of those two facts, here is this chapter for your enjoyment.

This is one of the chapters that underwent a serious amount of editing after I'd finished writing the first draft of the story. The reasons for the edits are numerous- I needed to up the ante for Harry and Alana's relationship, I needed to give Ron and Hermione a bit more screentime [per say], I wanted to let Harry analyze Alana, and it was just badly written. I like it a lot better now. My favorite part is the last line. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

31 July 2019  
The sun shone strong and hot, defying the early hour. Harry, pale from years of English and Scottish cold and rain, reveled in the heat. The sun would undoubtedly cause Ron's freckles to multiply alarmingly, and would burn Hermione brown. Harry would, in contrast, remain as pale as he was now, with not even a red burn to mark the time he spent outside. Still, he welcomed the sun, its sultry light and warmth.

He quite contentedly tuned out Ron's grumbling [he never had been a morning person] and Hermione's rambling about history and culture, focusing solely on observation. So, this was Spain. The Moorish architecture made world-famous, the earth-toned stucco buildings, the intermingling mosques and churches, the worn cobblestone streets and riotous colors of the gardens. It seemed strange for the Death Eaters to choose so bright a place as their home base; wrong for such a shadowy group, who traditionally worked in the nighttime, to defile this sunny place. And yet… The seductive, deceptively lazy beauty of the landscape… the violent history of wars and intrigues… England and Spain's traditional enmity… Perhaps this was the perfect choice for the Death Eaters, after all.

And for Alana. Harry was very much aware that Alana had loved Spain, felt more at home here than anywhere else on Earth. Spain suited her, Harry was quick to decide. England was too cold and dreary for her elegance and exotic beauty, France too romantic and genteel for her cunning and intelligence. But Spain? Alana and Spain fit together like a hand in a glove.

Idly, Harry wondered if Alana had ever walked these streets, if she'd paused to pluck a flower from a vine to tuck into her raven hair, or to admire the vignettes displayed before him. Had she ever wandered through the streets, losing herself to the atmosphere and the beautiful merging of land and architecture? Had she ever slipped away to simply bask in the sun? Had she loved it best by morning or evening, by daybreak or darkest night? Could she be enticed to return to this place she loved, persuaded to take up her old cause?

He was distracted by a nudge to the side, which turned out to be Hermione.

"You're awfully quiet this morning," she observed.  
"Sorry," he apologized, smiling. "Just thinking."  
"About what?" she asked, tucking a hand into the crook of his elbow.  
He smiled again, banishing his thoughts. "Ancient history."

Now was not the time to ruminate about his so-called wife, he sternly reminded himself. They were here to investigate a murder, not so Harry could lose himself to the eternal mystery that was Alana Montblanc.

"This is just like the good old days," Ron said with relish, swinging his arms and looking like a teenager again. "The three of us off to save the world, no distractions, no complications."  
"Ha!" Hermione laughed. "Someone's memory is faulty. I've never met someone so capable of causing complications as you."  
"And you caused plenty of distraction," Ron tossed back good naturedly, linking arms with his wife and kissing her temple.  
"Thank you very much," she said complacently.

Harry had to laugh at them; some things truly never changed. For which he was grateful. But Ron was right; this _was_ like the old times. Just the Golden Trio, off on another adventure. No distractions. This was one place where Alana would not be allowed to enter; this tradition was sacred, between the three of them alone. There was no room for more.

Arm in arm, the Trio took off through the streets, off to do what they did best.

* * *

13 August 2019  
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as Alana paced back and forth across the wooden floor of Harry's office. She had been pacing like this all afternoon, ever since her owl Myrddin returned with no reply to her letter, and she showed no sign of ceasing her prowl any time soon.

It was ridiculous to feel anxious, Alana admonished herself. Harry was investigating an Auror's murder; he was bound to be busy. Perhaps he'd had no time to read her letters, much less reply. And even if the situation in Spain had gotten worse, Harry was a trained Auror. He knew how to take care of himself; he would return to her.

Why was she feeling so anxious? It had only been two weeks since Harry's departure. Once upon a time it hadn't been unusual for Harry's missions to last at least that long, if not longer, and he'd never been the best at keeping up with his correspondence. There should be no need for her to feel so anxious.

But… Spain had always been a stronghold of the Death Eaters. Ever since Voldemort's defeat (the real defeat), Spain had always been a place of refuge for the Dark Lord's lackeys. Alana had fond memories of the country where she and her first husband had realized their love, and honeymooned, but she held equally unpleasant memories of raids and death squads. She didn't want Harry to be anywhere near those old haunts, those places that represented a part of herself she never wanted him to see again.

There was another question. Why was she so concerned about Harry's safety? Yes, he was her husband, but they weren't in love; sometimes she had to wonder if she even liked him very much. Yet… he was her protector, her boys' guardian, James' father. Sometimes she even thought she could call them friends. And quite honestly, she didn't know what she would do if Harry was hurt, or Merlin forbid killed. Yes, she would be deported back to France, but… what would it do to _her_, to her thoughts and emotions, if Harry was injured? If he joined Draco in eternal sleep?

Alana frowned; maybe she didn't want to think about that right now.

She glanced at the packet of papers that had been delivered by Ministry owl that morning. Harry's paternity of James had been established, and the adoption finalized. Once she and Harry signed the papers, their son would legally and officially be James Potter.

It was a big step for them, something that would tie them together forever. By signing those papers, Harry would be given all the legal rights of a parent, including as much custody as he wanted. James would become Harry's legal heir, and Harry would become James' father in reality as well as biology.

Alana wondered how they'd adjust. Except for a short while when they were babies, her sons had never had a father figure. They'd also never had two parental figures at once. How would James adjust to having to obey Harry as a father?

And what about her younger son?

She bit her lip. Julian didn't neatly fit into the family that had been formed by the marriage and adoption. Physically, he didn't look like any of them; the white-blond, gray-eyed Julian was the image of his father. And he was every inch the heir to the House of Malfoy, and he knew it. He had already stated that though he respected Harry as his guardian, he would never call him 'Dad' as James did.

"I already have a father," Julian had said. "I was born a Malfoy, and I'm going to stay that way."

So how to integrate Julian into their odd domestic arrangement? She could continue to keep her surname Malfoy, she supposed; as far as she knew she was under no obligation to take Harry's name. Other than that, Alana supposed she'd just have to allow Julian to maintain his identity as a Malfoy. They would make it work, at least until Alana's citizenship was restored and she and Harry could divorce.

Having settled that quandary as far as was possible, Alana returned to the problem of what to do about Harry's absence and prolonged silence.

Asking anyone for help was out of the question. She'd already badgered Shacklebolt, who froze her out by saying that if he got any news, he'd be sure to contact her. Meeting with Moody had been similarly unproductive; he'd flat-out told her that he didn't trust her and wouldn't help her. While she appreciated his blunt honesty after so much polite ambiguity, it had pissed her off. She wanted answers, needed reassurance. And if no one was going to help her, she'd just have to do it herself.

She would send the boys to Narcissa for the rest of the holiday, she decided. It had been a while since they saw their grandmother, and Narcissa could look out for them and get them safely to Hogwarts.

Finding a way out of the country was a bit more difficult. Technically she could leave without notice in the case of immediate danger or medical or legal emergency… Alana eyed the adoption papers thoughtfully. It was admittedly a loose definition of 'emergency,' but… For goodness' sake, she was Lady Alana Montblanc! Since when did she care about others' opinions or explain her actions to anyone? She could just use her Wishgiver magic to get herself to Spain, if worse came to worst. She could vaguely sense that Harry wanted her there, and if he was dealing with a dead Auror and the possibility of a Death Eater resurgence, she of all people needed to be there. And no grudge-holding Ministry officials were going to stop her.

* * *

15 August 2019  
Harry leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses before refocusing on the room he'd been holed up in for the past three days. The long table before him was covered in official reports and his own notes. The wall opposite him was a web of evidence- crime scene photos, pictures of suspects, maps. It was organized chaos, and Harry was the focus point.

The case in Spain had quickly grown from investigating one death to playing connect-the-dots with 27 murders, 18 shipments of supplies, 56 suspects, and 5 hotbeds of activity. Something was happening in Spain, something big. And the more Harry learned, the more he began to fear that Alana had been right, that the Death Eaters were on the move.

Alana… Harry sighed. Alana had been sending him letters, but he hadn't responded. In fact, every time her owl had come, he'd moved. If he knew the Death Eaters, and he did, they were having him watched. Possibly even trying to intercept his mail. So he'd sent no word to anyone about what he was up to. He created secure Floo networks to receive mail and information from his colleagues in Spain and the Ministry, and he went nowhere near crime scenes himself. Inconvenient, really, but he didn't want to alert the Death Eaters to what he was doing. And he really didn't want them getting Alana in their clutches.

He shouldn't have been so nervous, he chastised himself. He knew that Alana had no part in that existence anymore, that she was firmly on his side. And yet… she had family here, he knew; a paternal aunt she'd always been close to. Spain had been Alana and Draco's place, their favorite retreat. What if Alana returned to the land she loved? If the Death Eaters got her… if they got hold of the magic she had been bred to wield for them… who knew better than he what kind of hell Alana could bring? No, it was better for her to be nowhere near Spain.

He started at a sharp _rap_ on the door, then shook himself. That would be Ron and Hermione with their take-out. An old memory floated into Harry's mind. A small room, even more cluttered than this… long hours working over documents, Chinese cartons in hand… dancing with a beautiful woman before kissing her and stealing her from her world and her fiancé…

He shook himself, grounding himself in the present, then sighed. Yes, he wanted Alana nowhere near the Death Eaters, but… he missed her. Missed her razor-sharp instincts, her analytical mind and the way she caught the smallest details. All their confusing personal issues aside, he really could've used her help with this; professionally, they had always been a good match.

He crossed to the door, opened it, and froze. There in the doorway was the answer to his prayers… and his greatest nightmare.

"Alana?" he spluttered.  
"Hello, darling," she replied.


	11. If Only You Knew

**Author's Note**: I intended to leave last chapter's cliffhanger hanging for just a little while longer. However, after getting chapter nineteen edited and completed, I had to post this chapter to celebrate the fact that I only have two more chapters to edit. This chapter marks the halfway point in this story, woohoo! And yeah, everything is going to start snowballing until we're going so fast that nobody will be able to breathe. You, me, the characters… we're all going to be a mess when this story wraps itself up, I think.

So, now that I've filled you with foreboding for the rest of the story, about this chapter. Roman, as usual, decided to come in and steal the show. He's got a horrible habit of doing that, I really should punish him. But other than that, I'm really fond of this chapter. I love scenes where Harry realizes things about Alana, and I absolutely love their banter. Scenes like the ones in this chapter are the times that I like these two the best. It's also really refreshing to watch Harry tease Alana; I love it when they decide to get along. I also like this chapter for introducing you to Alana's Aunt Charlotte, who I happen to adore. I wish I could have included more of Charlotte; she's one of my favorite characters in Alana's backstory. Enjoy!

* * *

15 August 2019  
"What are you doing here?"

The words were flying out of his mouth before he even realized he'd spoken. But Harry believed he could be forgiven for being discombobulated. After all, he'd just been thinking about this woman; maybe he was hallucinating.

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes snapping with the same sparkle as the star pendant around her neck. "Not happy to see me, dear?" she asked sardonically.  
"You can't be here," Harry said, feeling very much like he'd just fallen down the rabbit hole. "You're supposed to be in England!"  
Alana sighed. "Look, I got worried. I knew if you weren't communicating that there was something wrong. I figured you could use my help."

Harry bit the inner wall of his cheek, considering. Alana + Death Eaters + Spain = Trouble-With-A-Capital-T, he knew, but… if she could possibly help…

She took advantage of his hesitation and ducked under his arm, smoothly entering his domain. As she took in the mess, Harry caught a familiar gleam in her eye, like a hound spotting a fox or a hawk eyeing a rabbit, and he realized with a start that she'd missed this. She missed her job as an Unmentionable, creating order out of chaos. Perhaps she'd missed her work as much as he had.

"How'd you even get here?" he asked while rubbing his neck, wondering if he could delay the inevitable, if it was even worth it to try.  
"I wished upon a star," Alana replied, a faint smirk on her face.

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. He knew that every so often, a Wishgiver could make a wish for themselves, but he never thought she'd use her wish to be with him. She must have been worried… And what did that mean, that she was worried? Did it have ramifications for their marriage of convenience, this sham they'd been forced into?

And why the hell was it that Alana complicated absolutely everything in his life?

"You realize this is gonna get us both in a hell of a lot of trouble," he told her.  
She quirked an eyebrow. "When was the last time you ever worried about getting in trouble, Potter?"

He had to grin; she had him there.

"Besides," she said briskly. "You know that if you were to try and push me out, I'd just go and do it myself."  
"I do know that," he nodded ruefully.  
Alana nodded. "Then once again it seems as though we can be of use to each other."

Well, she had him there. He did need her help; she knew it as well as he did. And if she was willing to help, then he was more than ready to accept her insight.

He was about to voice his agreement when the door flew open. Harry and Alana both turned, to be greeted with the sight of Ron and Hermione walking in, arms overflowing with food.

"Honey, we're-" The jovial greeting died on Ron's lips as he saw Alana. His eyes narrowed, and he set his bags down with a bit more force than necessary. "What are you doing here?"  
"I came to offer my assistance," Alana replied calmly.  
"We don't need it," he said icily. "We're doing fine."  
Alana raised a delicate eyebrow. "You understand the way the Death Eaters operate in Spain? You know how they're running things? I _organized_ Spain, Ron. I know how they're working."  
"You might've known once," Ron snapped. "But you've been out of the game for years. They could've changed everything."  
"True," she acknowledged the point. "But even if they did, their system now will be based on what I designed. I can at least give you a starting place, instead of shooting in the dark like you are now."  
"Look, we're doing just fine," Ron spat out. "We don't want your help. Harry, tell her."

He managed not to flinch as all eyes turned to his- Ron's angry, Hermione's conflicted, Alana's unreadable. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's our best bet, Ron," he said.  
Ron rolled his eyes. "I cannot believe you," he muttered.

He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh dear," Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead.  
"Can you talk to him?" Harry asked.  
"I can try," she said doubtfully, before walking out.

Harry and Alana stood in silence for a moment, each feeling trapped in the awkwardness of the situation.

"He's never going to forgive me, is he?" Alana asked, her voice soft and low.

Harry glanced over at her, surprised by the note of vulnerability in his wife's normally composed voice. It was a rare occasion indeed when emotions bled through her mask. He'd thought she was beyond caring what anyone thought of her, Ron especially. They'd never particularly gotten along; Ron was too wrapped up in Alana's public face to see the truth of her, and Alana was never interested in earning his confidence. And yet, Alana seemed remorseful, regretful… two words he still had trouble associating with her.

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she cut him off, sounding like her usual self.

"Well, let's not waste time," she said, clapping her hands. "Come here and explain this bulletin board to me, I see you've made a mess of it like usual…"

* * *

Ron and Hermione had yet to return, but that didn't stop Harry and Alana from soldiering on without them. They were hard at work when a knock on the door sounded. They looked up to see a sympathetic face peeking in.

"Came to check in and make sure you were still alive," he said, a tired smile on his handsome face.  
"Barely," Harry replied. "C'mon in Roman, there's someone you should meet."

Roman walked in, and his and Alana's eyes met. A crooked smile grew on his face, making him look years younger, and… sweet Godric, Alana was actually blushing.

"Well well," he said, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms. "Alana Montblanc. You're a sight for sore eyes."  
"Roman Corona," Alana smiled. "As charming as ever, I see."  
Harry blinked in confusion. "You two know each other?"  
"Our families ran in the same circles," she said, an ironic smile on her face.  
"So you're turning traitor again," Roman said approvingly.  
"Well, when I had such a fine example before me…" she replied, smiling. "How could I not be inspired to follow suit?"

They chatted for a few more minutes- about memories of the last time they were both in Spain, apparently- looking cozier than acquaintances had a right to, before Roman excused himself. When he was gone, Harry slowly turned to Alana, his eyebrows raised and an amused smirk on his face. To his amusement, a faint blush stole across her cheeks and she hurried to straighten her notes.

"What?" she asked, sounding defensive.  
"What was that about?" he grinned.  
She shrugged. "We knew each other growing up. Draco, Blaise and I were friends with Roman's little sister Isabelle." Her smile dimmed then, her eyes lowering. "She was found slipping information to an Order member and killed in front of Roman. It's why he became a turncoat."  
"Oh," he said, biting his lip. After a moment of silence, though, he grinned again. "And when did you have a crush on him?" he asked impishly.  
Alana blushed. "I was twelve," she admitted. "Draco was being a right proper arse, and Roman was nineteen and oozing charm."

He laughed at this unexpectedly human side to Alana. In the midst of this serious and upsetting situation, it was odd but refreshing to discover his wife's humanity.

* * *

17 August 2010  
Alana groaned, rubbing her temples as she rested her elbows on the table. "My brain can't take any more."  
"I know the feeling," Harry sighed from where he rested his forehead against the wall.

Two solid days, they'd been working. It had been frighteningly easy to fall into their old work habits; in this arena, at least, they were a perfect match- her analysis and his instinct combined to make an unstoppable team. He caught her up, she suggested alternate theories, she had quite happily immersed her brain into piecing it all together… but they had come up short.

"It makes no _sense_!" Alana said for the hundredth time. "What could they possibly be thinking? The Dark Lord is dead, and none of the Death Eaters could possibly agree on a replacement. And even if this is a few disgruntled Old Guard, what could they hope to gain? The Death Eaters don't have the numbers to rise up again. What few aren't in prison or dead are either on the run or under surveillance. And even if they're recruiting again, it would take months to train them up to the level they'd need to be in order to pose a threat to the Ministry. What do they think they're _doing_?"  
"I'm not the one who can think like a Death Eater," Harry pointed out.

Alana rubbed her left wrist, over the star-shaped brand, and sighed. Truth be told, she'd never understood the Death Eaters either, for all that she came from their world. There was a reason she'd kept trying to break away…

Then she paused. She may not ever understand them, but there was a place she could go to at least learn what was happening.

"Harry, I'm going out," she said suddenly. "Take a break until I get back."

Without waiting for his reply, Alana ran out the door.

* * *

The hacienda crowned a hill, overlooking the village below. The stucco walls were still painted yellow, the tiled roof was still earth-toned, red hollyhocks still grew below the windows and vines crawled up the walls. Casa de la Paz was, had been, and always would be Alana's favorite place on earth.

She stood before the lane, adjusting her oversized sunglasses as she gazed at the house, her gaze drawn to a particular balcony. She wondered if the scent of flowers on the evening breeze was as strong as it had been that night; if the stars shined as brightly as they had the night Alana received her first kiss.

Then she shook her head. She had no time for memories of Draco; her concern today was with the living. Forcing her mind back to the present, she walked up to the door of her Aunt Charlotte's house.

An ancient, stooped house elf led her into a small parlor before disappearing. Alana stood before the fireplace, her attention riveted on one picture among all those that crowded the mantle. It was a shot of two teenagers standing on a balcony. She was in a white halter-top dress, he in a white button-down shirt and khakis. They were framed by the doorway directly opposite Alana. She watched the picture as the boy plucked a flower from the vine beneath the banister and tucked it behind the girl's ear, before his hand slid down her neck and behind her head as he pulled her in for a kiss.

"Oh, Drake," she sighed.

Funny, she hadn't been thinking about Draco very much lately. He'd been dead for so long that at times it seemed hard to believe they'd ever been married. And to her horror, Alana was beginning to forget the sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around her, his scent.

Being married to Harry wasn't helping matters, however much of a sham the marriage was. Alana had always prized what little independence she had, but now she found herself wanting to include Harry in her decisions, to ask his opinions. It was ridiculous; in just over five months they'd be getting divorced, and their only connection would be James. Why was she trying to integrate him into her life?

The rustle of silk skirts alerted her to someone's presence. She turned only a moment before she was imprisoned in an embrace of red silk, gold lace, and the scent of cinnamon.

"Alana, mi amor!" Charlotte Montblanc exclaimed.

The never-married Charlotte was the little sister of Alana's father Hugh Montblanc, and Alana's favorite relative. Charlotte had always been a free spirit, using the fact that she was "only a female" to arrange her life her own way. Associated with the Death Eaters only to keep her mother from paying attention to her, the 41-year-old Charlotte still had the beauty and vivacity of a 16-year-old, and could pass as Alana's sister instead of her aunt.

"Oh, let me look at you," Charlotte said, taking Alana's face in her hands. "I still think of you as the 15-year-old girl who I kidnapped for a summer. But look at you! 31 years old, widowed, a mother twice over, and I'm guessing involved in more trouble with the Ministry."

One corner of Alana's mouth quirked in a smile; Charlotte had always known everything. She opened her mouth to speak, but Charlotte held up her hand.

"No, don't say anything, I don't want to know," she said. "You're probably here to figure out what our dear relatives are up to, so I'll just tell you."

Charlotte said no more until she and Alana were settled in the afternoon parlor, a generous tea laid out before them. Charlotte leaned back in her chair, and for the first time Alana could recall, her aunt looked her age.

"Oh my dear," she sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "Promise me you'll be careful. If they learn you're here…"  
"They do want me, then?" Alana sighed.  
"Despite your track record for rebellion," Charlotte nodded. "Your powers are too lucrative to ignore. Especially when you were bred to be their weapon."  
Alana rubbed her forehead. "Tell me everything."


	12. Revelations

**Author's Note**: Okay, because I'm feeling a little insecure about the direction the story's about to take, I'm going to front-load this chapter with an explanation. If this is a plot twist you've seen a million times, I'm sorry. But I promise I'm not just plopping it in willy-nilly because I thought it sounded cool; I've put a lot of thought into it, and I've done everything I could to justify why I'm doing it, and why it makes sense in this world I've created. I promise it's not a plot twist for the sake of a plot twist; the information revealed in this chapter becomes the focal point for the rest of the story, and introduces you to our main antagonists. So it's not like I'm dropping this plot twist on you and then not developing it; it is going to be important for the rest of the story. I promise.

Secondly, I realize that this chapter is really short and kind of abrupt. That's because it used to be the end of the previous chapter. I split it because I wanted to keep the tension up and not immediately reveal what was going on. So this chapter is dedicated solely to introducing you to our newest villain.

Third of all, I know the moment between Harry and Alana is short and sweet. I realize I could have drawn that out, but when I was writing this chapter, Hal and Lana came up to me and said, "We don't want to dwell on this. Acknowledge it and let us move on with our lives already." So I played it their way.

**OC Play-By**: Tisiphone Niger is portrayed by Christina Ricci.

* * *

17 August 2019  
Harry jumped as the door opened and quickly shut again. He turned to see an abnormally pale Alana locking the door, then desperately trying to regain her composure as she sank into a chair.

"Alana?" he asked unsurely, knowing that anything that had her this shaken was a bad thing.  
"Firewhiskey," she croaked.

Harry winced as he went to the cabinet where he and Ron had been hiding their firewhiskey from Hermione and her disapproval, quickly pouring her a generous glass. Yep, bad thing. Only the worst had ever driven Alana to drink.

She snatched at the glass, downing it with practiced ease. Harry poured her more, surprised when she gripped his hand, though her gaze was focused on the empty space in front of her instead of on him. He folded his fingers around hers as he squatted before her, waiting for her to regain enough composure to speak.

"Do you remember why we were partnered in the Ministry, twelve years ago?" she asked.  
He nodded. "Aurors had intelligence that the Dark Lord was creating a weapon of some kind in Spain. But we could never figure out what it was."  
"Because we were looking for the wrong kind of weapon," she said heavily. "I should've seen it. I know how he worked, I knew he liked Death Eaters with special gifts…"  
"Alana…?" Harry asked uneasily.  
"Back in 2002," she began, "the Dark Lord bred a weapon- another like me."  
"Another Wishgiver?" Harry asked.  
"Not exactly," Alana said. "Not a Wishgiver, but the same idea- a witch with some kind of extraordinary power, but much easier to control than I was. She was to be hidden in Spain until the day Voldemort was ready to reveal her."

Harry kept silent as Alana poured herself another drink, sensing that the best was yet to come.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is running this war," Alana finally said. "And it is a war; Aunt Charlotte told me the plan was for them to return to England to empty Azkaban. She's holding the Spanish Presidente under the Imperius Curse." Alana drew a shaky breath. "She's doing all of this for the Dark Lord's weapon- Tisiphone Niger. Voldemort's daughter by Bellatrix."

Harry sat back, sickened and amazed. He didn't need Alana to explain why that was such a calamity; it was obvious. A child with Voldemort's magic, the pure blood of the Blacks… Voldemort was sure to have invested his own powers in his weapon…

"Is she a Horcrux?" he croaked.  
Alana shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know."

Harry's mind was reeling so quickly he feared he would be sick. If the girl was a Horcrux.. if Harry's work wasn't finished after all… then he had no choice. He would _have_ to kill her, to go through another war, to be the Savior once again.

"We need to go back," Harry managed to force out. "We have to go back to England. They know I'm here; they'll know you visited Charlotte. And I need to tell Moody, we need to prepare."  
"I want to help," Alana said. She looked up slowly, fear and determination warring in her eyes. "If there is to be a Third War, I want to help you. I… I _need_ to help you, I want to be on your side for once."

They looked at each other for a moment, and Harry knew it was time. He had wanted reconciliation with Alana for months, had needed to tell her he forgave her. Here was his chance.

"You always were on my side, I know that now," he assured her.

Their gazes held, and Harry saw something shift in her. His forgiveness seemed to be the impetus Alana had needed to begin to forgive herself. She had spent years living with a guilt disproportionate to her crime. It wouldn't happen overnight, but it was time to move on.

"Let' s go home," he repeated. "We'll have one hell of a mess to clean up at the Ministry."  
Though still pale, a glimmer of an amused smirk graced Alana's face. "Well, if your Ministry would just cooperate, I wouldn't need to break the rules."

* * *

"A daughter," Shacklebolt said blankly, collapsing back into his chair.  
"We heard rumors of a weapon of some kind in Spain, but we could never find anything," Moody said, shaking his head.  
"She must've been hidden, like the Potters were," Alana said thoughtfully. "Houses spelled for secrecy, a Secret Keeper, charms for concealment."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, and it struck Harry how old the Minister looked, how tired. He was only 52, but two wars and thirteen years as the Minister had aged him before his time.

"So we fight again," Shacklebolt said with a sigh.  
"And what to do about you?" Moody asked, eyeing Alana.  
"Commend me for figuring out what was going on?" she suggested.  
"If you didn't already know," Moody said.  
"You've been reading my mail, you've had me under 24-hour surveillance," she shot back. "I'm flattered that you think me cunning enough to outwit you and have contact with the Death Eaters without your knowledge."

Moody leaned back, acknowledging the point. Harry frowned; he'd thought they were past this mistrust of Alana. He took her hand in his, silently reminding everyone whose side she was on.

"I'm going to keep Hogwarts open," he said. "It's always been a refuge in times of trouble. And since both of Alana's boys will be there, it only makes sense for her to be there, as well."  
"So we should reward her for breaking the terms of her visa?" Shacklebolt asked.  
"The visa stipulates that I may leave the country in the event of an emergency," Alana said. "I consider my husband's safety to be an emergency."

Harry smirked faintly at Shacklebolt's and Moody's faces. They clearly hadn't expected that…

"We'll discuss it," Shacklebolt said begrudgingly.  
Alana nodded and stood. "Thank you. And now, I'm going home to my children."

She walked out, head held high, without a single backwards glance; always the consummate aristocratic Pureblood. Harry had to laugh as he followed her out; as usual, she had ended up dominating were she was supposed to be submissive. Some things, at least, never changed.


	13. Missives II: A Dangerous Game

**Author's Note**: I knew, basically the moment I finished chapter five, that I'd be using that format again. Someday, I might have to write an entire story this way; I find it far too much fun. However, I will admit that this batch of letters might be a little confusing to follow. If you need anything explained, please don't hesitate to contact me. Happy reading!

* * *

18 August 2019

Dear Mr. Potter and Mrs. Malfoy:

This is a notification that your legal paperwork has been received and filed. This completes the adoption process for James Potter. No reply owl is necessary.

Congratulations,  
Morgan Toadvine  
Head of Adoption Department

* * *

Mum—

I'm coming to pick the boys up.  
We need to talk.

—Lala

* * *

Dearest Lala—

It's such a pity you can't come to Prague with me, but I suppose it can't be helped. Take care of yourself.

Hopewell House is still and always yours, if you need it.

I love you.

—Mother

* * *

Harry-

I heard the adoption went through, congratulations.  
Dinner to celebrate?

-Mione

* * *

Mione—

You, me and Ron. Dinner. No one else. Urgent.

—Harry

* * *

Lana—

I'm eating with Ron and Hermione to fill them in. I'll be home as soon as I can. Don't take the boys to Diagon Alley without me.

—Hal

* * *

Mum—

I wish I could vacation with you, but I'm stuck in England until December. Perhaps the boys and I could join you for part of the Christmas holidays.

Enjoy Prague. And Bucharest. And wherever else your love of art takes you. But please, for the love of Merlin, not Madrid.

—Lala

* * *

19 August 2019

Moody-

Why didn't you tell us as soon as you knew?

We're in, whatever the plan is.

-Hermione

* * *

Moody—

Alana and I are taking the boys to Diagon Alley for the day. Can you have someone watching Knockturn? I don't trust _them_ not to try to snatch Alana or the boys.

—Harry

* * *

Head Moody—

If you're free sometime this week, I should like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss an idea. Please don't inform Harry of this meeting until or unless it becomes necessary. I await your reply.

Regards,  
A.S.M

* * *

Shacklebolt-

Have a look at this. What the devil is the minx up to now?

-Moody

* * *

Moody,

She sent me one, as well. Shall we?

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Hermione-

I would argue, but you wouldn't listen.

I'll pull you three in for a meeting soon.

-Moody

* * *

Harry-

Done. It'll be Graystone.

-Moody

* * *

K.S.-

Might as well. She doesn't want us telling Harry, so it should be interesting at least.

-A.M.

* * *

Dear Mr. Potter and Aurors Weasley:

This is an owl summoning you to a meeting with Department Head Moody next Tuesday at 3 pm to discuss certain important matters. No reply is necessary.

Sincerely,  
Sean Fletcher  
Secretary to Alastor P. Moody, Head of the Auror Department

* * *

Dear Lady Malfoy:

This is an owl to confirm your appointment with Minister Shacklebolt and Department Head Moody next Tuesday at 2 pm. No reply is necessary.

Truly yours,  
Matilda Finch  
Secretary to Kingsley A. Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

* * *

24 August 2019

Harry-

Why does someone else get to have a mission while we cool our heels at home? Excuse me, who's the Savior? Who are the Golden Trio?

-Mione

* * *

Mione—

Now who's getting a big head about their title? Do I get to smack you upside the head now and give you one of those Looks That Say 6,000 Words?

Personally, if I never have to be the Savior again I'll be perfectly happy. I have enough on my plate with Hogwarts, Alana, and the boys.

Besides, we're the best- and thus last- line of defense.

—Harry

* * *

Department Head Moody,

I hereby grant permission and give my consent for Alana Montblanc Malfoy to regain her position as an Unmentionable. She is to be the main operative in Operation: Stingray, and subject to your authority.

Regards,  
Kingsley A. Shacklebolt  
Minister of Magic

* * *

Moody,

I hate writing formal missives. Sorry about that, but you know how things like this go.

Does the chit have any idea how she'll do it?

Shacklebolt.

* * *

K.S.-

No idea. It's her operation, all she's asked for were a contact, untraceable funds, and amnesty "in case of emergencies" (her words, not mine).

-A.M.

* * *

Auror Corona-

This owl is to notify you that you will be the contact for an Unmentionable operating undercover in Spain in response to the situation there. Your duties will be to ensure her safety, provide her with contact to and with the Ministry, and to aid her as needed. She will be known to you as Miss Leto Semele. Arrangements will be made for your introduction after September 01.

Burn this message after reading.

Sincerely,  
Alastor P. Moody  
Head of the Auror Department

* * *

Montblanc-

Everything is in order. We wait for your cue.

-Moody

* * *

Head Moody-

I'll be ready after the boys are in school.  
What's my alibi?

Regards,  
A.S.M.

* * *

A.S.M.-

We'll make it seem as though you're under guard in London. Should deter Death Eaters from causing trouble. And the civilians from going into an uproar.

-A.M.

* * *

A.M.—

Merlin forbid the civilians cause an uproar.

—A.S.M.

* * *

25 August 2019

Luna-

I need a favor. Can you run a short piece in the Daily Prophet for me? Need to create an alibi for an operative.

-Moody

* * *

Moody_

Whatever you need.  
Do I get to know the purpose of the operation?

_Corona

* * *

Corona-

Kill the leaders of the Death Eater movement.

This operative has connections to both sides and will serve as a double agent.

-Moody

* * *

Alastor,

Yes, of course! Would you like to send it to me? Or would you prefer if I write it? I can have it out whenever you need it.

Luna

* * *

Luna-

Thanks. I'll send it to you by the end of the day. Edit it, if you think it needs that.

-Moody

* * *

Roman—

I very much look forward to joining you in Madrid. Indeed, you've spoken so fondly of it that I do believe you love it more than our own beloved Santorini! I'll arrive by boat at 9 pm on September 05.

Love,  
Leto

* * *

A.M.—

I'll pose as Auror Corona's girlfriend from Greece, claiming we met there in school. I'll tell Bellatrix that I can use Corona to get information on the Ministry while I wait to lure Lady Malfoy to Spain.

—A.S.M.

* * *

A.S.M.-

I admit, you haven't lost your touch.

-A.M.

* * *

A.M.—

I know.

—A.S.M.

* * *

Shacklebolt-

I hate to say this, but the minx's plan might actually work. She always was a genius at this sort of thing.

So if she succeeds, we're giving in?

-Moody

* * *

Moody,

Not much choice, is there?

Shacklebolt.

* * *

Chief Witch Silvera,

Be advised that Alana Montblanc Malfoy's citizenship is to be reinstated upon certain conditions set by me. It is no longer dependent upon the conditions laid out in her visa. She is also to be granted amnesty for her past actions and compensation for her endeavors. I will alert you at the proper time to do this.

Sincerely,  
Kingsley A. Shacklebolt  
Minister of Magic

* * *

26 August 2019

Hal—

Apologies for not telling you in person, but in my defense you were gone before any of us woke up.

I'm taking Julian to Malfoy Manor and Hopewell House for a few days before school starts. James went to stay with "Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione" [you've brainwashed him well, congratulations]. We'll be back at Grimmauld Place by the 30th.

—Lana

* * *

Aunt Charlotte—

I need a favor. Spread word to the right people that a Death Eater is coming to Spain— one who has access to both the Ministry and myself and Harry. Her name is Leto Semele, and she's from Greece. She worked there during the Second War, recruiting magical creatures for the Dark Lord.

—Lala

* * *

28 August 2019

My Lala,

It's a dangerous game you play, my love.  
I'll do what I can.

Charlotte.

* * *

My Leto_

Nothing will ever replace Santorini. Just like no one can ever supplant you.

Till the fifth.

Always yours.  
_Roman

* * *

A.M.—

Everythng is ready. Do you have the ingredients I asked for?

—A.S.M.

* * *

A.S.M.-

Delivered to Hopewell.

Good luck.

-A.M.

* * *

29 August 2019

Minister Shacklebolt—

I'm requesting permission to travel with my husband and sons to Hogwarts in order to keep up the charade that Harry is my guardian. I will Floo to Grimmauld Place that night, there to remain until 03 September when I will travel to France to begin Operation: Stingray.

Regards,  
A.S.M.

* * *

Lady Malfoy,

Permission granted.

Your passport and visa will be delivered to your guardian by 5 pm, along with the other documents necessary to cement your alias.

Minister Shacklebolt.

* * *

01 September 2019

James-

Good luck for your second year! You'll do us all proud.

Love,  
Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Molly, and Severus

* * *

Julian,

Good luck at Hogwarts. Your father would be very proud of you.

-Grandmama

* * *

James—

You have no need of luck, for you're sure to do well at school, but I give you my luck and my love anyways. I've left you your father's tie; it's on your pillow.

—Mother

* * *

Julian—

Congratulations, love. Your father would be very proud that his son joined the House where he was so happy. I've left you your father's tie; it's on your pillow.

—Mother

* * *

Hal—

Take care of the boys.

I'll be in touch, and I promise I'll explain when I can.

—Lana

* * *

Moody—

What's going on?

—Harry

* * *

Harry m'boy-

Can't explain in writing. Come to the office when you can.

-Moody

* * *

03 September 2019

Lana—

You had better be careful or I swear to Godric I'll kill you.

—Hal

* * *

Why Hal, you sound concerned. The Savior, worry about a Death Eater? Godric would be rolling in his grave.

* * *

Be. Careful.

* * *

Take. Care. Of. Our. Boys.

* * *

I promise.

* * *

I promise.


	14. Viper's Nest

**Author's Note**: This chapter originally didn't exist. You learned about it in hindsight, but I hadn't originally planned to narrate these events. I changed my mind for a couple of reasons- A, because I needed to have more face time between Roman and Alana, and B, I needed Alana to go through the confrontation in the second POV. Oh, and yes, there's a whole confusing psychological reason why Alana chose the disguise she did, but I'm not going to go into it; I'll let you infer what meaning from it you like.

That's not to say that this chapter is brilliant or even very long; it's short and kind of choppy, in my opinion. However, I feel better having added in these scenes. Enjoy!

* * *

05 September 2019  
The harbor of Cádiz was crowded, filled with people who chattered in throaty Spanish and Castilian, and who anxiously waited for the cruise ship, the _Flamenco_, to pull into its mooring. Roman pushed through the crowd, trying to find a decent vantage point from which to spot his 'girlfriend'-cum-operative. Not that he knew what he was looking for; Moody had just told him to show up. Granted, Alana knew what he looked like, but it would have been nice to know what her disguise was. He'd like to find her as quickly as possible so he could draw her away from the hubbub and Apparate them to their hotel in Madrid.

He stood against the harbor railing, a small bouquet of red carnations in one hand [supposedly the Spanish gave them as a gesture of passionate love, so he figured it worked with their cover story], a burning cigarette in the other. He stood quietly, trying to be patient as the ship pulled into the dock and the passengers began disembarking. Greek and heavily accented English began to mingle with the Spanish and Castilian, creating a discordant but somehow still beautiful mix of sounds. Through the cacophony of greetings, Roman watched and waited, trusting Alana to find him.

"Roman, my love!"

He turned and found himself confronted by a petite, delicate-featured woman who seemed to have sprung from the 1950s. Her red hair was partially covered by a sheer scarf wound around her face and neck. Her eyes were hidden behind oversized sunglasses. She wore a floral-patterned sundress covered by a kelly green trench coat, and impractical sandal heels. She lifted one gloved hand and removed the shades to reveal dazzling green eyes… green eyes identical to a certain English Headmaster Roman knew.

"Leto, cariña mia, you take my breath away," he smiled.  
"Good. Then you'll stop talking and greet me properly," she said saucily.

One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile before he leaned down, wrapping his arms around Leto and pressing a kiss to her lips. Might as well be thorough in establishing their supposed relationship… And if he was a bit more thorough than he should have been with Potter's wife… well, he could blame their cover. When he puled away, he grinned at the rosy blush on Leto's cheeks.

"Missed me, huh?" he smirked, picking up her bags [very thankful that she only had two].  
"You're impossible," she sighed, threading her arm through his.  
"Part of my charm," he easily agreed as they distanced themselves from the crowd and headed down a dark alleyway.  
"Where are we headed?" Alana asked.  
"Hotel in Madrid," he grinned. "Hope you don't have any plans, I'm keeping you in tonight."  
"Promise?" she asked slyly.  
"Of course I promise," he smirked, a moment before they Disapparated.

They Apparated into an alleyway a few blocks away from Roman's hotel, so he told her. He said he wanted to give the spies watching his building the chance to see the two of them together, so word of Leto's arrival would begin to matriculate through the Death Eaters' organization. They walked quickly, looking for all the world like a young couple who couldn't wait to get inside where no eyes could see.

Once Roman had gotten them safely inside, he leaned against the door, running an appraising eye over Leto as she unwound the scarf and trench coat.

"It's a good disguise," he commented. "Nobody could tell it was you, unless they realized the whole thing was based on Lily Potter."  
He grinned as she blushed again. "You don't think they'll put two and two together, do you?"  
"Nah," he said. "It's pretty subtle. Other than red hair, a bit of her jaw, and Harry's eyes to a T, which I really should tease you for, you don't really look like her. How's it work?"  
One corner of Alana's mouth quirked in amusement. "Tricky bit of spellwork. One part Confundus Charm, two parts modified Protego Shield. This form is basically a projected image that I cast every few hours."  
"Clever," he said, clearly impressed. "You come up with that?"  
"I had some help," she smiled.  
Roman nodded. "So what's your cover?"  
"The Greek Death Eaters were fairly autonomous," Alana replied. "The Death Eaters here shouldn't ask too many questions. I drop a couple stories about certain massacres, mention the right names- all dead or imprisoned, of course- and that should get me accepted into the fold. Then I just have to mention to Bellatrix that I know you, and can get to Harry and Alana, and poof! We're golden."  
"And during all this you'll be our double agent," Roman finished, a note of admiration in his voice. "It's a good plan."  
"I thought so too," Alana said complacently. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

07 September 2019  
Leto Semele glanced across the carriage, smiling weakly at Charlotte Montblanc. Although the elder woman looked calm, there was tension buzzing through her frame; her anxiety betrayed by the set of her jaw, the tiny shifts of movement.

"Would you stop?" Leto said, trying to smile. "You're going to kill us both with anxiety."  
"You really expect me to remain calm?" Charlotte asked, one sardonic brow raised. "You are returning to the viper's nest, I think I'm perfectly justified in being worried about you, mi querida."

Alana would have replied, but just then the carriage drew to a stop. With the ease of long years of practice, they pulled themselves under control, hiding their trepidation beneath calm, composed masks. After all, if there was one thing their backgrounds had taught them, it was how to appear calm and in control no matter what the situation was.

A stuffy, balding, inherently English butler met them as they walked up the cobblestone lane. The hacienda stood isolated on the edge of a plain; Alana was sure that to Muggles the building would appear abandoned. The manor house looked respectable enough, but Alana felt chilled by a wave of inexplicable dread. She wasn't sure why, but she was suddenly reminded of the desolation of Azkaban.

The butler led them through the darkened, silent foyer, and through a darkened, silent hallway, before opening a door on the left.

"Madam has been expecting you," the butler intoned in a nasal drawl, stepping to the side so the ladies could enter.

After exchanging an eloquent glance, Charlotte led Alana into the room, the only sound being their heels clicking against the floor. The room, darkened but for a small chandelier that hung over a long board table, featured black silk hung on the walls, heavy, dark wood furniture, black and white marble tiles forming a checkerboard pattern on the floor. The room was furnished to intimidate, and it did its job.

Standing behind the table was a woman Alana hadn't seen in years. Wild black hair that was just starting to gray, abnormally pale skin and angular features, eyes that easily revealed the insanity within. Even after all these years, Bellatrix Lestrange still looked like a caged, rabid animal, a creature just aching to be set free.

"Bellatrix," Charlotte greeted her, inclining her head.  
"Who's this?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes darting to Alana.  
"This is the woman I told you about," Charlotte replied, offering up the sacrificial lamb. "Leto Semele, formerly of the Inquisitorial Guard in Greece."  
"The Dark Lord was very good to us," Leto said. "We all wished we could have been be closer to the heart of the action."  
"Charlotte tells me that you're offering your services as a double agent," Bellatrix said, eyeing her suspiciously. "The last two people who did so proved to be traitors. Why should we trust you?"  
"I don't expect you to trust me right off," Leto replied. "However, I have connections to the leader of the Aurors operating in Spain. He's very close with Moody… and with Potter. And as I've heard, Potter has once again allied himself with the Great Traitor."

That clenched the deal, Alana could see it in her aunt's eyes. Bellatrix still feared Harry, and if Leto could eliminate him… Alana would press that advantage as hard as she could while she tried to bring this infernal organization down.

"Well. Let's introduce you into the fold," Bellatrix said.

Alana held her head high as Bellatrix led her away from the comforting presence of her Aunt Charlotte. This was why she had come to Spain, she reminded herself. She wasn't here for a pleasure cruise or a visit with Charlotte; she was here to fight. This was where retribution lay. And to claim that redemption, she could and would walk into this den of lions and face them down.


	15. Missives III: I'm Here For You

**Author's Note**: This chapter is a good example of why the author should never be the arbiter of when a story is finished. I didn't originally intend for this chapter to exist, and now it's quite possibly my favorite chapter in the whole story.

This chapter was nowhere planned while I was writing the rough draft of the story. Even when I started editing _Light_ for posting, I didn't think this chapter would come to be. However, eventually I realized that it was kind of absolutely necessary. This was going to be the only chance I had for the rest of the story to explore Alana's adventures with the Death Eaters, and her reactions to her experiences [trust me, after the next two chapters there's another plot twist coming that leaves no time for ruminations on the war]. The amount of extra information I needed to put into this section of the story couldn't be done by adding to the chapters I already had, so I needed to give them a chapter of their own. As soon as I realized that this chapter had to be written, I decided that I wanted to do it as another Missives chapter. Because it's a quick way for me to write, it's informative, and it really suits my main characters.

As opposed to the other Missives chapters, I decided to focus on the letters Harry and Alana send each other. For whatever reason, Harry and Alana connect to each other much more easily when they're not talking face to face. And since I needed to advance their relationship, voila! More letters for you to enjoy.

Enough of this abysmally long author's note. Words cannot express how excited I've been to post this chapter, so I hope you enjoy!

* * *

10 September 2019

Harry—

I know you'll be getting a copy of the Auror reports from Madrid. Knowing you, you'll probably Apparate to the Ministry once a day to get the latest news before the Daily Prophet sanitizes it. So I know you'll already have all the facts about the Death Eaters' activity; the raids, the murders, the movement across the country.

However, I know you. You won't be content with the facts, like Hermione will be. You'll want to know about the atmosphere, the eyewitness accounts that you can't get from an official report. I hope you'll accept these letters from me to provide you with an auxiliary account of the events you'll already be privy to. I hope whatever information I can give you will be helpful to the Aurors and to the Ministry.

I can't believe I just wrote that I wanted to help the Ministry. What on Earth are you doing to me?

I've made my foray into the organization. It's so strange, being back in this world. In some ways, it hasn't changed at all. Most of the time, the Death Eaters are civil, even courteous. After all, they count themselves as the aristocracy of the wizarding world, so I would expect some of that upper-crust arrogance and sophistication to bleed through their bloodthirsty and savage activities. Were you to walk in on a Death Eater party, you wouldn't even realize who and what they truly are— as long as you're a member of their class, they treat you with all the graciousness of the bluebloods' world. My days thus far have been filled with— of all things— garden parties, tea parties, elegant suppers; even a ball, to honor my arrival.

And then we get to the nights.

If during the day we play the parts of cultured, sophisticated aristocrats, the moonlight shows us for who and what we truly are. We don masks when we go out, but in truth all masks are stripped away at night. The man who led me through a waltz two nights ago now sets fire to a Muggle warehouse. The woman with whom I gossiped about eligible bachelors now kisses her husband for luck before he goes out to murder a fellow human being.

We call ourselves aristocrats, but in truth we're more vicious than the most hardened assassin. By night we become butchers.

Bellatrix may have accepted me into her organization, but as far as she's concerned I need to prove myself worthy of her trust. So she puts me on the Terror Brigade. Original name, is it not? It's basically a bully squad; we go into wizarding villages and attack. But only ever one house, one family. Bellatrix wants them to spread the news that the Death Eaters are active, but she wants no one to believe the rumors. She learned psychological warfare well at the knee of her master.

—Alana

* * *

Alana—

You really do know me too well. It's kind of scary.

How did you Floo it to me, by the way?

The Aurors keep getting reports of Death Eater activity all around the country, but they discredited the stories. Random villages with no strategic value, and only one or two people would claim to have seen them. The Aurors had been writing the reports off as hysteria and paranoia. However, from what you told me it sounds like we were wrong. I'll tell Moody about this and see if he won't have the Aurors re-examine the reports, see if we can make out a pattern.

So when you're not drinking tea and terrorizing villages, what do you do?

—Harry

* * *

Harry—

You won't find a pattern in the attacks. Bellatrix chooses what village to target by throwing darts at a map. The only pattern will be who she sends out on patrol. I'll send you the names; hopefully the Aurors can arrest them and get the charges to stick, although I doubt it.

When not drinking tea and terrorizing villages, I'm with Roman. Seeing as I'm only valuable to Bellatrix because of my connection to the Ministry, she wants me with him as much as we can manage. I stay in his hotel with him; he's gotten us an adjoining suite, so to all eyes we're a couple. He'll take me out to lunch, we'll play the charade of happy couple, then we'll return to the hotel and exchange information. Not that I have that much to tell him right now, but as I move up in Bellatrix's estimation I should be privy to more.

The fireplace in my room is now connected to your office via the Floo Network. Roman has someone in the Ministry keeping a close eye on it; only Roman, said official, you, and I know that it exists.

—Alana

* * *

11 September 2019

Harry—

I've met Tisiphone. Bellatrix brought me upstairs after breakfast and introduced us.

She's… unnerving, Harry. I've never seen someone so utterly soulless. If one were to just glance at her, she would look like any other teenage girl. She has Bellatrix's black hair and pale skin, a strong jaw that must have come from her father. She's not pretty, exactly, but she is… arresting. But her eyes… Her eyes are empty, lifeless. If I hadn't seen her breathing, I would have thought she was a wax statue.

Was I this much a machine when I was the weapon everyone had pinned their hopes on?

My work with the Terror Brigade continues. But it's odd; I'm rising in Bellatrix's esteem, much more quickly than I would have thought. I know I should be pleased; after all, the closer to her I become, the more information I'll be privy to, and the more I can give the Ministry. But it's not even been a week since she met me. I still don't know the names of everyone gathered here. And yet, I've met Tisiphone, Bellatrix is showing confidence in me. I didn't think I would gain her trust this quickly. It makes me nervous. She's planning something, I know she is. Perhaps something aimed at the Ministry, which is why she's trusting me so quickly. But it shouldn't be this easy.

That reminds me. Rumor has it that Bellatrix is trying to have you followed. Please be careful when you're away from Hogwarts. After all, you're the Savior; the world needs you.

If I learn more, I'll let you know.

—Alana

* * *

Lana—

You're not a soulless machine. To everyone's surprise— even my own, at times— you are fully and absolutely and _wonderfully_ human.

I wish I were there with you. I wish I could look at Tisiphone and figure out if she's a Horcrux. Then I could kill her and get you out of there. You do the damndest things for redemption, you know that?

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Bellatrix trusts you. Use it to your advantage and don't worry about anything else. We can get you out of the country if you get in too deep.

I figured she might. Don't worry, I'm mostly traveling by Floo powder between Hogwarts and the Ministry. I'll watch my back.

—Hal

* * *

15 September 2010

Harry—

Your naivety is charming, really it is.

The disorientation continues. Bellatrix was taking me on a tour of the hacienda yesterday, and in one of the more remote rooms of the house a surprise was waiting for me. I have no idea why Bellatrix has a portrait of Draco. Granted, Narcissa was Bellatrix's favorite sister, but for years Bellatrix thought Draco was a disappointment— because he had failed to kill Dumbledore, because he had disobeyed Voldemort's orders while I was undercover. Apparently death hallowed him in her eyes; she's calling him a martyr for the Cause now. I'm sure he'd be amused by that.

I froze when I saw the portrait. It was just a shock, seeing his face in this weird surreality. When Bellatrix noticed what had caught my attention, she told me all about her sainted nephew and how fervent a supporter of the Dark Lord he had been before he was murdered. It was so jarring, hearing about his life from her eyes. At the end, Draco didn't support Voldemort's cause anymore; he'd started having doubts about it two years before. He lost all love of the cause after you were taken prisoner; he was in it only to protect our family. To hear from Bellatrix that he was such a staunch supporter made me sick.

I must admit that I now look for opportunities to slip away from the crowd for a while, to spend a few minutes sitting before the portrait. And before you say anything, yes, I fully realize how unhealthy a practice it is. I know perfectly well that it's just a portrait, that it's not really Draco. Even if he smirks at me, raising an eyebrow in that way he so excelled in. Even if the portrait interacts with me, replying just as he would have, were he still alive… I know you won't really understand it, given what great enemies the two of you were. But I miss him. I feel the loss of him, even after all these years. I know you never saw him as anything other than a spoiled, arrogant prat who was a coward beneath it all… well, when we were growing up, that was true enough. But when you weren't there to engage in a perennial pissing contest, he was my best friend, bred to be my Keeper and my match.

Do you ever wonder if we're dishonoring our first spouses, with this sham of a marriage we're in?

—Lana

* * *

Lana—

I know how you feel. There's a portrait of Ginny hanging in my room at Grimmauld Place, and I've found myself talking to it more than once, just to hear her answer. It probably is unhealthy, but after all, it's the only way we'll hear their voices again. I don't think we can be faulted for wanting that.

I wonder the same thing. I mean, I loved Ginny [make one comment about how many shades of Freudian wrong that is, and I'll have to hurt you], and you loved Draco [though you're right, I don't think I'll ever understand why]. We married them for love, and out of choice [even if your choice coincided with the Master Plan]. I don't think they'd be pleased that we've been more or less forced into this union, but I think they'd understand [at least, I know Ginny would; I can only assume that Draco wants to hex me into next Tuesday for stealing you again]. I don't think our marriage, if that's what it is, has anything to do with our prior marriages. It'd be different if we'd had an affair and left our spouses to be together, but… they're both dead. And we married to get you and the boys to England. Ginny and Draco would want us happy, and that's what matters.

Here's a question I've been meaning to ask you for a while- how do your powers still work? I mean, I thought it was all tied into the fact that you had Draco as a Keeper. Weren't your powers supposed to tear you apart if you didn't have him to keep you together?

—Hal

* * *

19 September 2019

Hal—

Really? You want me to bore you with another science lesson? Alright then, but don't say I didn't warn you.

A Star's magic is the essence of dreams. Literally. Whatever it is that makes up a dream— is it willpower? belief? some kind of heretofore unexplained magic? — that's what fuels my magic. It's an elemental force, as old and powerful as the foundation of the universe. The magic is so strong that it overpowers any magic I might have inherited from my blood; any spells or hexes I work are powered by this elemental magic. It's a force too strong to be contained within a human form, and you're right; without a Keeper the magic would rip me apart. When Voldemort ordered my parents to breed me, my mother suffered two miscarriages before she was able to have me, because those other two children didn't have a Keeper to protect them.

A Keeper is like a floodgate. They hold the key to the Star's magic— her heart, as clichéd as that sounds— and because of that, they can siphon off the magic. I told you once that only the Keeper can get exactly what they wish every single time, and that's why; it's because only a Keeper can truly control the Star's magic.

When Draco was killed, I did go haywire. Oddly enough, in hindsight it was a good thing that I was put in Azkaban. The dementors could feed off of my magic as well as my memories, seeing as the magic is made of the same things they feed from- hope, primarily. They weren't Keepers, but they siphoned off enough of my magic that I could survive.

My boys act as my Keepers now, since they have control of my heart. Julian, especially, seeing as he carries Draco's genes. I think there's probably no better Keeper in the world than a young boy who constantly wishes for candy or a faster broomstick.

—Lana

* * *

20 September 2019

Hal—

Work continues steadily. I would love to feed the Death Eaters false information and get the lot of them arrested, but Roman keeps telling me that that particular desire is counter-productive. He tells me not to be hasty, that we don't want to spook them into action just yet. He tells me I'm much more useful merely explaining the patterns and rationale for now, that they need all the information I can give them before the Aurors make their move. I know he's right, of course, but it's still frustrating.

It's strange, the degree of déjà vu I'm experiencing. It literally feels as though I'm living days of my life over again; sometimes I could swear I'm even saying things that I said once upon a yesterday.

Before we freed you from Voldemort's dungeon, I had been returned to the Death Eaters as a spy. Did I ever tell you that? It's the reason I created this mission, as a matter of fact. What I found then is that, for reasons even I can't explain, I like being a double agent. The role seems to suit me. I must say, though, I appreciate not having to report to Ron and Hermione this time around. I know they're your best friends, but really, it's impossible to work when Hermione is being overcautious and entirely too mothering, and Ron is glaring daggers at me.

Nothing has changed from the last time around. And yet, at the same time, everything has changed.

Last time, I knew that what I was doing was dangerous. But it felt very familiar, being back under Voldemort's thumb. I knew how to navigate those waters. This time… This time I'm not as certain of how the world works, or how to manipulate it. There's an underlying tension born of unfamiliarity, and I don't care for it. I find myself at times almost wishing that Voldemort were running this operation; then I would be sure of how to tear it down. There's a certain illogic to Bellatrix's operation that makes it much harder to live within.

—Lana

* * *

24 September 2019

Lana—

Well, Ron blew another gasket today. Apparently, he doesn't trust the reports coming out of Spain and he wants the three of us to go there ourselves.

I can't decide if he wants to play hero again, or if he just wants to monitor you.

—Hal

* * *

Hal—

Figures.

—Lana

* * *

29 September 2019

Lana—

Shacklebolt and Moody got Ron to calm down, finally. So you and Roman can continue working unmolested.

Which reminds me. Tell Corona I've been hearing the rumors about how he's always got his hands all over his girlfriend. Tell him I'm watching him.

—Hal

* * *

Why Hal, I do believe you're jealous.

How is Hogwarts? And how are the boys faring?

* * *

Hogwarts is running as smoothly as usual. Apparently, James has a bit of a crush on Selene Longbottom— one of Neville and Luna's daughters. Here's hoping he doesn't muck that up as brilliantly as I tended to when I was his age. From what Professor Slate— he's been the Head of Slytherin since Snape was killed— tells me, Julian is fitting in quite nicely. Honestly, Lana, it's frightening to watch the two of them! It's like having an out-of-body experience and watching myself and Draco. Except for the fact that James and Julian actually get along. Both the boys made their Quidditch teams, and their first match is in a couple of days. I'll let you know how it pans out.

Hang in there, Lana.

* * *

30 September 2019

Lana—

I have no idea how it happened. It never would've happened in my day.

—Hal

* * *

Slytherin won, didn't they.

* * *

How. How did that happen?

* * *

I assume it's because Slytherin out-maneuvered Gryffindor.

Still, the Potter clone didn't catch the Snitch? Shocking.

I hope Julian didn't gloat too much.

* * *

Boy is too much like his father.

* * *

That could be said for both of them.

* * *

07 October 2019

Hal—

Well, it's official. Bellatrix now has me sitting in on meetings with her top advisors. I've been promoted from the Terror Brigade to the Death Squad. Is that an improvement, going from property destruction to murder, even if it means that I have Bellatrix's confidence now? I still don't understand how I've risen in her estimation so quickly. It's only been a month! However, I have gone out nearly every night on patrol, and I've done my research— I've let it be known that Leto was involved in some of the more brutal attacks in Greece the last time around. Perhaps it's a good thing that I've risen so quickly; I can turn Bellatrix's blindness to my advantage.

I still hate it. I hate knowing that I have to go out and attack innocent people. I realize that I've done it before, for real… that knowledge haunts me. I realize that I'm not doing anything more than the tasks I performed as a true Death Eater… but that knowledge doesn't make it any easier. I hate knowing that when we go out to hunt Aurors, I'm putting everything you're working for in jeopardy.

I wish this was all over.

—Lana

* * *

Lana—

Don't start thinking like that. You're doing more for the war than I am. You're the Savior, this time around. You said yourself, everything has changed this time around. You are nothing like the woman you were; that woman doesn't even exist anymore, if she ever truly did. You're fighting to protect everything you love, and you're going to succeed.

—Hal

* * *

12 October 2019

Hal—

I'm nervous. I mean, I'm nervous all the time now, it's kind of a given. But this time it's not just me that's uneasy. It's everyone in the hacienda. There's a current of anxiety, of uncertain excitement, that's humming through the air. We fear, but we don't know what we fear.

Something is coming, Harry. Bellatrix is plotting something, I know she is. I can sense it in the air; I can feel my magic crackling. Someone is dreaming, wishing for something with all their strength, and the pull to answer the wish is so strong I sometimes think I might break apart.

I wish I could tell you exactly what it is I fear, but Bellatrix says nothing. She just goes about with a smile on her face. She looks… victorious. I'll send more details as soon as I get them.

Give James a kiss from me and tell him I say happy birthday. Tell him… tell both of them… that I think of them always.

—Lana

* * *

19 October 2019

Harry—

Apologies for my penmanship; I've just come back from a death patrol and I'm still shaking.

They were children, Hal. Two innocent children, asleep in their beds. They had done _nothing_. And Bellatrix ordered them murdered, because their father printed an article in his newspaper that she didn't approve of.

My God, Harry, what have I returned to?

Voldemort's war was horrible. You're the last person in the world I need to tell that to. But there was a method behind the Dark Lord's violence. He used fear as a weapon, and he was a master at it.

Bellatrix just enjoys others' pain and panic.

My God, Harry… My God. They were only children! And I had to stand there and watch those innocents die. Not just die, but scream, and weep, and beg for mercy. Bellatrix's Death Eaters serve her well; they're every bit as depraved as their mistress. I try to console myself by saying their deaths were a mercy compared to what could have been done to them, but I now I'm only lying to myself. Two little girls died tonight because I failed to save them.

I feel the weight of every death, Harry. It's my fault. These people are dying because I haven't succeeded yet. Those little girls were killed because I haven't defeated Bellatrix. I know now… Merlin, how I wish I didn't know it… more people are going to die. This is going to keep going until I kill Bellatrix and end this.

I don't even know their names.

* * *

Lana—

I want to find something comforting to say. I want to give you comforting platitudes, or find _anything _to say that will ease the pain you're feeling. But I know better. There's nothing anyone can say that will make any difference.

I'm heartsore for you, Lana. I don't even want to imagine what horrible things you're seeing, much less remember the kinds of things you must be feeling. Just know… that I'm still here, I guess. I'm here to support you, albeit from a distance; to listen to whatever you need to get off your chest, even to just sit here in silence with you.

I'm here. Always.

—Hal


	16. It's Finished

**Author's Note**: I'm posting this chapter because I saw HP7 on Sunday, and of course freaked out about it. It was by far the best of all the movies; yay for competent screenwriters and directors!

This chapter is really short. However, it is important to the story, and Alana's POV is the reason I kept this chapter short and filler-free. I realize that what's about to happen is really abrupt and comes out of nowhere, but… that's kind of a theme of this story, I've found. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

31 October 2019  
Harry leaned back in his armchair, dropping the reports he'd ostensibly been trying to read for the last two hours. It was hopeless; he was completely unable to focus on them tonight. He'd been hard at work all day, meeting with Ministry officials and the Hogwarts governors and unruly students, not to mention the never-ending paperwork and last-minute preparations for tonight's Halloween party. He knew it was foolish to push himself this hard, but he couldn't help it. He needed something to do that would take his mind off the fact that he hadn't had a letter from Alana in four days. They'd been sending each other multiple letters every day; that there had been four days of silence was worrying… He made a sound of frustration and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. Must not think about it.

He glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner; good Godric, was it really almost 2 am? He had to be awake in five hours… Groaning, he pushed his weary body out of his chair and left the Headmaster's office for his private chambers upstairs. Sighing, he pulled off his school robes, dropping them on the carpet and changing into blue plaid flannel pants and a white t-shirt before sitting before the fireplace. He waved his wand, getting himself some Butterbeer and starting the fire. Then he simply sat there, staring into space and letting the moody silence envelope him.

In the nearly two months since the school year started, Harry had been pushing himself relentlessly, working constantly from dawn until well past midnight. When he ran out of Hogwarts business to attend to, he would read everything the Aurors had on Spain. And when that failed, he would re-read Alana's letters, driven by a half-forgotten and fully disturbing, overwhelming need to know that she was safe.

He was incredibly confused by this insane need. Why was he so nervous about his wife's safety? Yes, they were friends now; yes, they were writing each other multiple letters daily, revealing the innermost pieces of their souls to each other, and yes, she was in an incredibly dangerous situation right now and he feared for her safety. But Alana had been the one to conceive of this mission, and she knew what she was doing. This was far from the first time she had straddled the line between sides; she was a veteran of just as many wars as he. So why this fear that she wouldn't return home?

Of course, there was the possibility… Were his feelings for Alana once again progressing into dangerous territory? Why should they have to? Why could they not remain as they were, fostering this friendship they'd discovered? Theirs was a marriage of convenience, a contract so that Alana could return to England and Harry could have his son. How could his heart interfere on that?

And yet, it did. He _missed_ her. He missed her presence at mealtimes, her mystifying smile or knowing smirk; he missed knowing she was two doors down late at night. He saw James every day, and Julian as well, but Alana he missed. Not only did he miss her, but for the first time in his life he felt as though he actually _understood_ her. He clung to their letters, devouring them, picking them apart to divine every possible nuance of meaning. To Harry alone did Alana confide the terror she felt, the horror at the brutalities of the war. Here was a glimpse into the mind of his wife, something he never thought to have again. And in her mind, he found… he didn't even know what it was. But it was something, something that drew an answering chord from him.

He missed her, he understood her, and he wanted her home.

He glanced at the table beside his armchair, picking up her latest missive. He picked it up, but he didn't read it; it had made him sick when he'd read it the first time. Not only sickened at the brutality of the Death Eaters, but also sickened at the heavy toll this mission was taking on Alana. She was going through hell in Spain, and he could do nothing to ease her pain.

He hated being helpless. He did have to say that about being the Savior; it meant that there was always something he could do. He never had to just sit and wait, watching as someone else fought to save the day and praying that they came home safely. Harry chafed at his inactivity, but there was nothing else he could do. He had his duties to Hogwarts, and Alana had chosen to go on this mission. It was dangerous, and reckless, and classically Alana. She still felt as though she had to atone for her sins, still couldn't forgive herself for her past, and this was how she'd chosen to find retribution.

He could only hope she lived through it, so she could come home and Harry could figure out what exactly he felt for his wife.

* * *

It was a moody twilight, full of shadows. The stars hadn't come out yet; only a faint sliver of moon could be seen in the dusky purple sky. The world was quiet, brooding, lost in its secrets as two hooded and cloaked figures glided down the sidewalk.

As Leto Semele walked down the sidewalk, she marveled at what had transpired. Fast; it had all happened so fast. She'd known it would happen quickly, of course. That was the way Bellatrix operated, striking as suddenly and unpredictably as lightning. But not like this…

"_I know there is a spy within our ranks," Bellatrix had said, her insane, paranoid gaze darting from face to face with quicksilver glances. "Our positions have been passed to the Ministry. Harry Potter, the great Chosen One, as been alerted that we are active."_

_She paused, looking at everyone again. Her eyes rested last and longest on Leto. Leto raised her eyes to Bellatrix, holding her gaze steadily as she practiced Occlumency. Finally, Bellatrix looked away._

"_We must proceed with the plan," she said. "My daughter will take her rightful place as Queen of the wizarding world."_

Alana shivered, pulling her cape more closely around herself. She'd heard idealistic rhetoric like this before, when it had been she who was the destined leader, the princess. But Bellatrix didn't have one half the cunning or the intelligence of Camilla Montblanc, and Tisiphone, whatever she was, was no Alana.

Leto had known that Bellatrix would move fast. But bumping up plans took time, as did gathering needed supplies. She'd thought there would at least be time to warn Roman of what was to come.

But here they were in London, only twelve hours after Bellatrix's meeting. The city was quiet, completely unprepared for the assault that had already begun. There was no chance to tell Harry or alert anyone; Alana was going to have to end this on her own. Unfortunate, that. Harry was the hero, Alana the scapegoat. That was the way it worked; role reversals were not in her line. Oh, they'd happened, of course. When push came to shove, she'd defied Voldemort and all he stood for. But she'd never relished playing the hero.

"I know it's you, Alana."

All of Leto's thoughts drew to a halt as Bellatrix spoke. They'd stopped walking; a quick glance around revealed that they stood in Grimmauld Place. Oh dear. So Bellatrix hoped to use Alana to gain entrance into Order Headquarters, and take it for her own. Did Bellatrix know the address? Could Alana stop this before any unsuspecting Order members were killed?

"It was a good disguise, my dear," Bellatrix said, looking over her niece-in-law. "You nearly had me fooled."  
"How did you find me out?" Alana asked.  
"Well, that necklace was my first clue," Bellatrix replied. "No one but you would wear a star. Then I overheard you talking to my portrait of Draco. Once I'd figured that out, all it takes is-"

She withdrew her wand and shot a spell at the younger woman. Alana shuddered as it hit; it felt as though her entire body had been plunged into cold water. When the sensation passed, Alana suddenly felt naked, as if her skin had been ripped off, leaving her nerves exposed.

"Homorphus Charm," Bellatrix purred.  
"Ah. I hadn't thought of that," Alana said thoughtfully.

She leaned against the fence and pulled down her hood, as if she hadn't a care in the world. And indeed, the wisps of hair that fell around her face were black, not red. Well, perfect. She folded her arms, her fingertips brushing the wand in the pocket of her cloak. She would have to be quick; there was no error for margin.

"So what now, Aunt Bellatrix?" she asked, looking at the older woman and tilting her head.  
"Either you prove your loyalty to your family and Draco's memory and lead me into this house, or you die," Bellatrix sneered.

Alana nodded silently. A moment later, Number 12 grew from between its neighbors. A delighted smile light up Bellatrix's face. She patted Alana on the cheek, then skipped up the lane. Alana followed slowly, her mouth dry.

Bellatrix reached for the doorknob-

"Avada Kedavra."

-and fell to the ground, dead, her eyes wide in shock and betrayal. Alana stood above her, shakily lowering her wand.

"Forgive me," she murmured, before making the body disappear with a wave of her wand and gliding inside.

The door closed behind her, but she didn't notice. She walked upstairs numbly, reached for the Floo powder sitting on her mantle, and traveled to her destination.

Harry stared at her as she stepped out of the fire and into the Headmaster's quarters. Seeing the look on her face, he stood and crossed to her, wrapping his arms around her.

"It's finished," she whispered, then broke into tears.


	17. A Simple Plan

**Author's Note**: Okay, first things first. You're getting this post today because I'm celebrating. I've mentioned before that I have this story completely written and finished. That's because while I'm posting chapters on ffn, I'm also writing the next story I'll be posting. Ergo, while I was posting my Boondock Saints story _AVPF_, I was writing _Light_. I would post a chapter of _AVPF_ every time I finished writing a chapter of _Light_. The same system is at work here; I post a chapter of _Light_ after I finish writing a chapter of the next story I'll be posting. The next story happens to be a trilogy, and earlier this week I finished writing the second book. So I've been celebrating for the past few days, and that's why you're getting an update today.

Now that I've utterly bored you with that ungodly long explanation…

I fully realize that what happens between Harry and Alana in this chapter comes out of nowhere, and is rather out of character for them both. I also realize that they don't really stop to think about what they're doing. For those of you tempted to cry foul, I will defend myself with this. _Everything_ that has happened between these two, in both books- including the bits of their past that you saw in Alana's journal- has been out of character for them both and has come out of nowhere. That's the basis of their entire relationship, and the root cause of a lot of the tension in this story. Before you try to tell me that that's completely unrealistic… no it's not. I have witnessed- even been involved in- relationships that come out of nowhere, and those involved don't think about what they're doing or why.

As for why Harry and Alana refuse to think about their actions, my only excuse there is that they're in the midst of a war, and are focused mostly on survival at this point. They're assuming that after they've dealt with the war, they'll have plenty of time to sort through their relationship.

I feel better for having gotten that out. I'll let you enjoy the story now.

**Disclaimer**: This is a really minor point that probably doesn't even need disclaiming, but I'm a bit paranoid. The chess image that Alana uses in the middle of this chapter is stolen from Twilight. At this point, I can't remember if I took it from the books or from a fan fiction or an RP that I wrote with my friend Henderson; maybe it's all three. Anyways, yeah. It's from the Twi-verse. A, don't flame me for stealing from Twilight. B, don't sue me for stealing from Twilight.

* * *

01 November 2019  
Harry woke up slowly, blinking in the clear November sunshine that filtered through his windows. He sighed, shifting… then blinked, staring at the naked shoulder, the gentle sweep of black hair, lying next to him.

Oh bloody… bloody, bloody, buggering hell.

Last night had been… surreal. Alana had never broken down like she had last night. He had never seen her so unsettled, so vulnerable, so… human. She had been so weak, so unlike Alana, that for a moment he hadn't known what to do. She had clung to him, crying bitterly, needing him for comfort that he had offered, albeit bewilderingly.

Between her sobs, he'd heard the basics of what had happened. And for a moment, he was filled with nothing but dread. Yes, the ringleader of this infernal circus was dead, but the sideshow freaks still remained. The Death Eaters would be howling for vengeance; the war would likely escalate. It would be bloody, and dangerous, and likely complicated.

He had pulled Alana closer, his heart breaking for her as the full weight of what she'd done sunk in. In order to try to end this war before it began, she had murdered her own family. It didn't matter that said family was insane, or that Alana hadn't been fond of Bellatrix. She'd still had to kill her, had still damaged her soul in order to end the war before it began.

The kiss had started out as comfort. It had ended... with this, the two of them naked in bed. And Harry was feeling unexpectedly vulnerable.

Sweet Merlin, what had he done? Yes, he and Alana were married, so it was technically alright. But… it had just been an arrangement, a contract. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. When had his vows begun to matter to him? _Did_ his vows matter all of a sudden, or had he simply… well, been a guy, and taken advantage when an opportunity presented itself? No, that wasn't it. At least, not entirely. Yeah, fine, he'd had no compunctions about this last night, but he wasn't like he had consciously been taking advantage of her. It had been… he didn't know what. Something different, something legitimate. She hadn't been some opportunity, she had been Alana. His wife. And last night… whatever it was… had been meant honorably. Mostly. Why was it that their marriage now seemed validated, real? When had he started having feelings for Alana again?

By Dumbledore's beard, this was not a good time to start falling for his wife! She was in danger, England was under threat of invasion, there was a war about to explode. He knew he was going to end up being right in the middle of it. Alana may have been working to destroy the Death Eaters, but he'd be called to lead the fight from the other side. They could both die. If there was ever a time _not_ to think with one's heart, surely this was it.

But apparently, Harry still hadn't outgrown his adolescent sense of bad timing, because here he was, in bed with his wife, who he may or may not have been falling in love with.

He swam through a sea of blankets, wrapping an arm around the still-sleeping Alana and curling around her, trying to hide from his thoughts, which were only chasing each other in dizzying circles at this point. They fit, he was absently surprised to find. He'd thought it would feel wrong, to have her in his arms again, but it worked. It was comfortable and oddly familiar, like an old sweater that fits just right.

He hitched himself up onto his elbow, watching over her as she made the journey from sleep to wakefulness. For a moment after she opened her eyes, she just lay there. The look on her face wasn't confused or upset; it was exhausted, numb, bordering on hopeless. Harry rested his hand on her shoulder, stroking her bare skin with his thumb when she didn't turn.

"We need to get you into hiding," he said. "The Death Eaters will be baying for your blood."

She was quiet for a long moment before she rolled onto her back, looking up at Harry with red-rimmed eyes. He stared down at her, cataloguing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the translucence of her skin. She looked as though the constant stress had made her sick, sick and weary and in no condition to fight. The fall she'd taken from the pedestal he'd put her on had been long and hard; the evidence was laid out before him. This wasn't the Death Eater Goddess, the distant Star he had at points feared, reviled, and worshipped. No, the woman who lay beside him was the reality, the one behind all the masks, the fragile and very human truth of her.

"No," she replied, her voice hoarse but resolute. "No, I have to go back."  
"Don't be stubborn," Harry frowned. "Your safety is more important than you needing to prove yourself-"  
"It's not that," she cut him off. "Think about it, I just killed Bellatrix. Meaning that there's no one to guide Tisiphone. The senior advisors are going to be tripping over each other to bend her to their will. I need to be there, I need to get Tisiphone's confidence. If I can direct this war I can try to minimize the damage."

He was quiet for a moment, acknowledging the truth of what she said. Seeing that she was going to win, she spoke quickly.

"I'll tell the Death Eaters that Bellatrix and I got into a fight with an Auror, that he killed her and injured me," she said. "I'll get into Tisiphone's confidence and I'll do everything I can to stonewall them. I'll have to leave today-"  
"No," Harry cut in. "Not today. At least, not yet."

She looked up at him, her green eyes liquid and serene. For a moment he just looked at her as they read the truth in each others' eyes. She saw that he had no idea what he was doing or what was happening; he saw that she really didn't care, as long as it didn't cease. He leaned down and kissed her again, sealing the bargain without knowing the terms… and that was the last thing either said for a very long time.

* * *

02 November 2019  
She could feel her stomach tying up in knots as she approached the hacienda. For a minute, Alana found herself wishing she had accepted Harry's offer of sanctuary. Surely she had done enough to earn her reward; she had fought in three wars now, that was enough for a lifetime… Surely now she could be forgiven, she could leave the fight to someone else.

Frowning, she shook herself out of it, berating herself for her selfishness. The war wasn't over yet, and hadn't she wanted to end the war? Roman and his men were still fighting, thus so would she.

Alana drew a deep breath, allowing thoughts of Roman to calm her. They'd become good friends in the last two months, bound by their common experiences and their current dangerous situation. They were both black sheep, cast out of their families because they didn't believe in the Death Eaters' credo. Each was haunted by memories of what they'd done before their conversion, and each sought forgiveness they couldn't let themselves believe they deserved.

_For Roman_, she thought as she walked through the door. _And for Harry_.

"Good morning, Miss Semele," the butler, Watson, intoned.

She fought to stay calm beneath Watson's shocked inspection. She knew what she looked like; she had forced Harry to hit her with _Sectumsempra_ on her cheek and her arm, so her story would be believable. Currently, her arm was heavily wrapped and in a sling, and she looked like death warmed over.

"Where is Lady Tisiphone?" Leto asked.  
"In Madam's office," Watson supplied.

Without another word, Leto dashed up the stairs, allowing anxiety to bleed through her calm. She knocked on the office door, waiting for Tisiphone to call 'enter' before walking in.

"My lady," Leto said, inclining her head.  
"Leto," Tisiphone replied, gazing at her. "You've returned. Where is my mother?"  
"I'm sorry to tell you that your mother is dead," Leto replied. "We were ambushed outside of London by an Unmentionable, and she was killed."

Killed. By Alana's hand. She hadn't yet let herself think of the fact that she had murdered her aunt. How did one reconcile that fact within oneself? Someday, she would find the strength to face that down. But not today.

There was silence for a long moment, as Leto watched Tisiphone absorb the news. The young woman's expression didn't change, but Alana felt as though Tisiphone was throwing off a cloak, revealing her true colors. And for a moment, Alana felt sheer, unadulterated terror. She could have sworn that she was looking at Voldemort, and in that moment she knew that whatever Tisiphone Niger was, she wasn't human.

"I see," Tisiphone said. "Which means I am now in control of this war."

Leto remained silent, watching as Tisiphone began to pace. After a moment, Tisiphone turned to face Leto.

"My mother's advisors will attempt to rule me," she stated. "But I mean to take full control. Will you support me in this?"

For the barest moment, Alana considered. To support Tisiphone would mean that she would have a much harder time stalling the war. It would mean allowing innocent people to die, putting Roman and his men in danger at every moment. Instead of playing a simple chess game, she would be spreading the game across three boards, and fighting on all fronts at once. But to refuse would be to give up everything she had worked for, letting go of all the progress she had made and all her hopes for the future.

Swallowing hard, Leto knelt. "I pledge fidelity and support to you, my lady," she murmured.  
"Which I accept, and shall not forget," Tisiphone said, an odd gleam in her eyes. "If you keep faith with me, your rewards will be great."

Leto inclined her head, feeling very much like she'd just sold her soul to the devil. As she rose and followed Tisiphone out the door, only one thought crossed her mind.

Her work had only just begun.

* * *

20 December 2019  
Harry smiled to himself as he walked off the train, surrounded by James, Julian, and quite a bit of luggage. The boys were chattering happily to each other, and while he made the appropriate remarks at the right times, his mind wasn't really on the conversation that flowed around him. He paused when he saw the black carriage, emblazoned with the Malfoy family crest on the door.

"Your grandmother's here," he told the boys, motioning as Narcissa stepped out of the plush, black- and silver-draped carriage box. "You will behave for her, won't you?"  
"Of course we will," James said, rolling his eyes good naturedly.  
"Will Mother be here when we get back?" Julian asked.  
"She'll be waiting at Grimmauld Place," Harry confirmed. "Go on now."

Needing no further prompting, both boys ran full-speed for their grandmother, greeting her with the deep affection one afforded to the woman who had raised them for the first part of their lives. As Narcissa ushered the boys into the carriage, she glanced back at Harry, and the two exchanged a civil nod before she slid into the car herself.

It had been Alana who had organized this tradeoff. She had fed Tisiphone a story about going home with Roman for the holidays; she would return with false information on the Order and the Aurors. In the meantime, Alana would be in London from now until New Year's. She'd arranged things so that the boys would spend Christmas Eve with Narcissa, and Christmas Day at Grimmauld Place with their parents and the Weasleys. And while James and Julian got time with Narcissa, Harry and Alana would have time alone together.

He had the funny feeling they weren't going to be wearing much clothing over the next few days.

Ever since returning to Spain, Alana had taken to using the Floo Network to travel to Hogwarts about once a week. She claimed she came for comfort, although they never did much talking. He mostly provided comfort in his bed, though he'd also had occasion to give it on the floor, against the wall, and on one memorable occasion, the Headmaster's desk.

They had never actually verbally agreed to take this next step in their relationship; it just kind of kept happening. And honestly, neither minded. It was strangely easy to be together; their bodies remembered each other, even if the emotional baggage each carried had yet to be fully shed. They were comfortable with each other, they enjoyed each other's company, trusted each other enough to reveal every facet of themselves. Even if they lacked the wild, passionate love they'd once had [had they ever truly loved each other? or was that only coming now?], what they did have was enough.

Smiling, Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place, intent on enjoying his Christmas holiday.

* * *

21 December 2019  
Tisiphone Niger paced through her office, hands folded behind her back as her agile mind worked furiously, making and rejecting plans, considering her next move.

Ever since the death of her unlamented mother, Tisiphone had been leading this war. And she loved it- as much as she was capable of loving anything, that is. With her mother no longer running the show, Tisiphone was in full control, and she loved the power. The war was progressing beautifully; no more hiding in the shadows, as Bellatrix had done. Tisiphone's Death Eaters were bold and fearless, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that Voldemort's cause was alive and well.

There was, however, one aspect in which Bellatrix had been correct, and that was in the matter of the Great Traitor.

Killing the Great Traitor had been one of Bellatrix's ultimate goals. She was too powerful an ally for Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and too dangerous an enemy for Tisiphone and the Death Eaters. The Traitor had been bred as a weapon of war; that made her both highly valuable and highly dangerous. She'd already proven that she would become a turncoat at the drop of a hat; she couldn't be trusted by anyone. And if she wouldn't use her magic for the people she'd been born to, Tisiphone would be damned if the Order got a hold of her.

There was only one problem; the Traitor had vanished.

She was supposed to be in London. Leto and Bellatrix had gone to London in an attempt to find her and kill her. And yet, no one had seen the Traitor in months. It made sense to Tisiphone; the woman was likely under the protection of the Order, not to mention the personal protection of the Savior himself. She had likely been hidden away in an untraceable house, and would be untouchable.

Tisiphone stopped in her pacing, tilting her head thoughtfully. Yes, the Great Traitor was beyond reach for now… but her children weren't.

The elder son, James, Tisiphone disregarded. There were rumors from the time of the child's birth- recently renewed after Potter married the Traitor- that James wasn't truly Draco Malfoy's son. Most didn't believe it, pointing to Alana's black hair and green eyes and the fact that all the magical documents- birth certificates, magically spelled family trees- recognized James as a Malfoy. For her part, Tisiphone believed the rumors. James would have been conceived during the time Harry and Alana lived together, and everyone knew Alana and Draco hadn't seen each other during that time.

Julian, though… Julian would suit. He truly was a Malfoy, and supposedly much like his father. Tisiphone had never met her cousin Draco, but Bellatrix had assured her that he had been a devoted follower of her father, perfect in all respects except one- his inexplicable love for the Traitor he'd been bred to protect.

Smiling to herself, Tisiphone crossed to her desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and began to write a letter to her cousin. She would win his trust, learn the whereabouts of his mother, and then destroy her rival, once and for all.


	18. Nine Months

**Author's Note**: I'm going to quickly (ish) circumvent a couple of likely critiques here. First of all, in Julian's April POV, he's going to repeat a few things that Alana has already said elsewhere. I know it sounds repetitious, but it's intentional. I needed to have Julian acknowledge these points in order to lay the foundations for the last two chapters of the story. In my opinion, nothing is more dangerous than a person who takes action on incorrect information or faulty intelligence. So Julian's assessment of his parents, and his mother's choices, is really important to the plot. I pray you forgive me the redundance.

Also, I realize that I _zoom_ through months of time in this chapter. I suppose I could have slown way down and stretched this out to two or three chapters, but… I didn't want to. It would have slowed the story way down, and I needed to keep the momentum up for the next chapter. So this plot twist got a bit shortchanged in favor of keeping the pace fast.

* * *

01 January 2020  
She sat on the bed numbly, eyes staring into space as her mind struggled to process, to understand. It was so simple; it was so horribly complicated.

Alana's entire life had always been planned for her. From the moment the Dark Lord had made the decision to breed her, every step of her life had been arranged, down to the last detail. She had deviated from her charted life course only three times- falling in love with Harry, giving birth to James, and helping Harry defeat Voldemort. She may not have agreed with the way her life had been arranged, but she had followed the plan- out of fear and cowardice, if nothing else.

This, however… This fit into no plan that had ever been conceived for her.

What had happened to their marriage of convenience, the empty vows? As strange and wrong as that had been, it was clear, easily understood. Then they'd had to go and complicate it all with this physical affair, this warm camaraderie and solidarity. They'd bound themselves together when Harry claimed paternity of James, true, and this physical affair had tied them closer yet. Still, their sham of a wedding was to have been over in 22 days. Their lives would have diverged again, and while they would be friends [likely with benefits], they would each be free to take their own path.

That couldn't really happen now. This… little accident… had bound them together just as strongly as James had.

Really, she had the worst sense of timing in the world. Why was it that she felt the need to conceive when the world was embroiled in war? Each time she'd gotten pregnant, it had been in the midst of fighting, when her life was constantly in danger. This was so obviously _not_ the time to be with child.

And yet here she was, the day before she was due to return to Spain, pregnant with Harry's child 22 days before they would have begun the divorce process.

She stared again at the magical pregnancy test, which in addition to confirming pregnancy also revealed the day of conception. Seven weeks. Meaning she'd gotten pregnant in mid-November. She had a sneaking suspicion she could blame the escapade on the Headmaster's desk for this…

Placing her hands over cheeks that felt suspiciously warm, Alana rose from the bed and began to pace. Now that her pregnancy was confirmed, she needed to think, to plan, anything to occupy her mind and prevent her from panicking.

Seven weeks… She'd deliver in the latter part of August, in that case. It would be wretched, being pregnant through a Spanish summer… For there was no doubt in her mind that Alana would stick with her mission. She couldn't abandon it, not when Tisiphone had pushed into France and was preparing to take charge of the rest of Europe, England included. Alana was needed more than ever; she couldn't back out simply because she hadn't had the good sense to insist upon protection.

She could just work the pregnancy into her cover, she decided; claim that the child was Roman's. Thank Merlin Roman had black hair and that her disguise included green eyes… that should hold any questions at bay. Perhaps if she revealed her pregnancy, Tisiphone would allow her to bow out of the Death Squads, and she could relax a little. That would definitely be a welcome bonus. And once the child was born… what then? She would fight until the war ended, and then… what? Retire into the country? Live happily ever after with Harry at Hogwarts? Finally find the retribution she'd spent so long seeking?

She shook her head; the future was too uncertain to think about. For now, short-term planning was all she could really do. She needed to go shopping for the various herbs and potions she would need to have a healthy pregnancy. She would need to go to Hopewell House to gather the bassinette, rocker, and other newborn things. She'd see about finding a small house in Madrid for her and Roman to move into, to further along that happy family image. And, most immediately, she needed to figure out how in the world she was going to tell Harry.

She ceased her pacing when she heard the front door open, the sounds of her boys running into the kitchen and Harry coming upstairs to the room they now shared. Alana drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, waiting for him. She still had no plan for how to tell him, which she hated, but it was now or never.

"Hey," Harry said, a grin on his face as he brushed snow out of his hair. "You missed an epic snowball fight."  
Alana smiled, somehow. "How badly did the boys beat you?"  
"Oh, it was bad," he nodded, laughing, before he leaned in and kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him back. They could handle this, she thought vaguely; they were mature adults.

"Alright, what's wrong?" he asked as he pulled away, looking her dead in the eye.

It wasn't like she'd never done this before, she thought. She'd gone through this experience twice before, once with Harry. She could tell him…

"Alana?" Harry asked, brow furrowed in concern.  
She drew a deep breath. "I'm pregnant," she said quietly.

* * *

They sat at the kitchen table, each with a mug of tea, just staring at each other. It had been two hours, and they hadn't spoken yet.

Harry was stunned. How could this happen? Okay yeah, they'd been shagging a lot. And yes, they'd been pretty bad about protection, but… How could she be pregnant? More importantly, how could she be pregnant _now_? They were supposed to divorce!

Granted, lately Harry had been wondering if a divorce was truly what he wanted. It was, after all, rather difficult to contemplate divorce when he was fairly certain he was at least half in love with his wife.

But a baby?

He hadn't counted on having another child. He had James, and honestly, learning to parent a 12-year-old was challenging enough. To add another child into the mix…

"What're we going to do?" he croaked.

Alana bit her lip, staring into her tea. She'd been asking herself the same thing all day.

"I'm keeping it," she announced, soft but determined.  
He nodded hesitantly. "I'll… I'm going to be there," he promised.

She looked up at him, apparently not having expected that. Swallowing thickly, he took her hand in his, his face serious.

"This is our child," he said softly. "Ours. I'm going to be there for this one."  
She nodded slowly. "Okay."

* * *

14 February 2020  
A sharp _crack_ disrupted the silence of Hopewell Manor as its long-absent mistress Apparated into the foyer. Stretching wearily, she rubbed the back of her neck, allowing her disguising spells to wear off. Good Salazar, it was exhausting to keep that deception up… Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Alana looked around the manor that had once been her home. The silence was oppressive, unnerving, even tomb-like, and Alana shuddered in distaste. When she and Draco had lived here, they had combated the cavernous stillness of the house with laughter, music, raucous games of Tag that led to a more amorous game altogether. Standing in this mausoleum of her former life, Alana found herself wanting to scream, to laugh; anything to awaken the echoes of her and Draco's voices.

Sighing, Alana headed up the stairs, to the nursery where, for a short time, her boys had slept. James' crib, Julian's bassinette, the rocker where Alana had spent so very many hours. It seemed almost like sacrilege to remove these relics from their resting place, to bring remnants of her former life into her present one. But she waved her wand and diminished the furniture, the toys, lovingly stashing them in her purse. They would serve their original purpose once again, decorating her hotel room and serving her baby.

When she was done, she stood in the middle of the empty, forlorn-looking room, looking around.

It was in that moment that the truth of her condition really hit her. She was pregnant; she was going to be someone's mother. She'd been so focused on the fact that she was carrying Harry's child that she'd forgotten the child itself. It was a grievous error on her part; she knew better than most that in the end, paternity- even maternity- didn't matter. The babe she carried beneath her heart was its own person, a whole new human being.

Alana sat down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her torso and staring down at her still-flat stomach, marveling at the miracle that she and Harry had created, the wonder that was even now forming within her.

"I think it's about time we got to know each other," she murmured. "I'm your mother. And I can't wait to show you the world."

Harry sighed as he squatted, laying a single white lily before the simple headstone. His eyes raked over the inscription without reading it. He didn't need to see the words; they were engraved over his heart.

"Hey, Ginny," he murmured.

He didn't often come to the cemetery. He preferred to remember Ginny as she had been, rather than think of her remains rotting away. Usually, if he needed to talk he'd sit before her portrait. But today he felt the need to address _her_, not a depiction of her.

"I'm going to be a father," he blurted out. Once those fatal words were spoken, the dam broke, and he just started talking. "Alana and I are married. It was supposed to just be for convenience, but now it's… well, I still don't know if it's _real_, but it's not just a contract now. And we're gonna have a baby. And part of me thinks that I should feel like I'm betraying you. I mean… I loved you. We were trying to have a baby. And now I am having one- with Alana. Who you always hated. And I should feel so guilty for all of this, but… I don't. I loved you- I still love you, I always will- but you're gone. You're dead. And I'm not. I'm alive, and… forgive me, Gin, but I don't want to be dead along with you. I'm tired of looking back, living in the past. I want to move on… I _am_ moving on. I just… please don't hate me for it. I can't live for both of us. I want to live without feeling guilty that you're not here with me."

He sighed, falling silent. And he felt… at peace. As if a huge weight had lifted off his chest. Almost as if he'd been set free.

He left the cemetery with a smile on his face.

* * *

06 March 2020  
Harry leaned back in his chair as he finished eating. "You should've been a chef, Ron," he sighed contentedly.  
"And let you and Mione have all the fun? I think not," Ron scoffed, kissing his wife on the head as he gathered up the plates.  
"Now what's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. From the moment he'd stepped through the fireplace, Hermione had been on him like a bloodhound on a criminal. He was honestly surprised she'd contained herself for this long.

"Alana's pregnant," he said as Ron sat back down.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then…

"WHAT?"

Harry winced, rubbing his temples; it was hard to say which Weasley had yelled louder.

"Alana and I are having a baby," he repeated.  
"But… you… that… I… INSANE!" Ron exclaimed.  
"Thanks, I didn't realize that," Harry shot back.  
"Harry, _what_ could you be thinking?" Hermione asked weakly.  
He shrugged. "She's my wife? It wasn't exactly planned…"  
"Imagine that," she said, the words dripping with sarcasm. "Harry Potter, without a plan? Never."  
"I thought you were getting divorced," Ron said.  
"Well, we can't until her citizenship papers come through," Harry pointed out. "And… I dunno…"  
"What about Ginny?" Ron asked.

Harry stiffened, and Hermione hissed, '_Ron_!', but Ron didn't let up.

"What about my sister?" he asked.  
"She's dead, Ron," Harry said quietly.  
"Murdered. By Death Eaters," Ron said, his voice hard.  
"Not by Alana," Harry said, standing.  
"She's one of them," Ron said through clenched teeth.  
Harry glared. "You don't know what you're talking about," he seethed before throwing Floo powder on the fire and disappearing.

Hermione groaned as Ron and Harry stalked off in opposite directions. Stupid, stubborn boys… she had rather hoped that they were past all of this. Glancing at the fireplace and the door through which they'd disappeared, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes heavenward. Then she squared her shoulders and marched after her husband.

For as long as she'd been friends with the boys, Hermione had been the peacemaker. Which was rather ironic when one considered her occasional lack of tact and her perennial superiority complex [born from the comfort of always being right]. She was used to navigating the tempestuous waters of the boys' tempers, and even if she couldn't always get them to end their arguments in a timely fashion, she had gotten much better at calming them down. Of course, that had gotten easier when Ginny and Harry sorted themselves out… Hermione sighed, allowing herself a moment of silence to miss her best friend and sister-in-law. Of all the women Harry had ever been interested in [and Hermione included Alana in this, yes], Hermione had only liked Ginny. She and Harry had just _fit_ together; it was obvious why they belonged together. Unlike this Harry and Alana business.

Hermione found Ron in the backyard, looking ready to kill something. Rather than encouraging Ron to talk out his emotions- a process she knew he hated- instead, she just talked.

"I don't blame you for being angry with him," she said, softly but resolute. "As a matter of fact, I think I agree with you. I don't at all understand why he would want to remain married to her, nor can I believe that they're having a child. But as mad as you are at Harry and as much as you don't like Alana, the fact remains that he is your best mate, and this is his choice. You don't have to like it, but you do have to respect his right to choose this."

There was a long silence, and Hermione was turning to leave when Ron's voice, low and weary, stopped her.

"I just… Merlin, a _baby_… What in Godric's name does he see in her?"  
"I have no idea," she admitted candidly. "But he's always seen something in her that we don't get."  
"Maybe he's seeing something that isn't there," Ron frowned.  
"It's entirely possible," Hermione nodded. "After all, he fancied Cho, and she ended up a Death Eater."  
"He has an unfortunate history with that," Ron said.

They almost laughed at that. Which was progress for them; for many years they hadn't even been able to mention Harry in conjunction with Death Eaters, not after what he'd suffered at their hands. The fact that they could nearly find humor in this pattern of Harry's relationships was perhaps the best proof they had that they were healing from the traumas of the war, after all.

The stood silently, leaning against the fence, for some time, each contemplating the storm that loomed on the horizon, wondering if they'd all make it through this baby thing alive or if blood would be shed before the child ever saw the light of day.

* * *

01 April 2020  
Hogwarts was quiet, Harry's students busy with homework or mischief making or merriment in general. He wasn't too worried what they were doing; he had the Maurader's Map, it would tell him if anything was amiss.

He was on the Quidditch Pitch, watching James and Julian as they chased each other on their brooms and performed rolls and dives that would have given their acrophobic mother a heart attack. He had to smile; Merlin, it was déjà vu to watch them…

He'd tried to be impartial during the school year, truly he had. He'd tried to be the Headmaster, to treat them as he would any other students. But… James was his son. These were Alana's boys. So try as he might, he couldn't resist evenings spent like this. Besides, he had something to tell them…

"Boys, come sit down," Harry called, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. "I have something to tell you."  
"Is it about Mother?" Julian asked as the boys landed beside him. "Is she alright?"  
"She's just fine," Harry assured them both. "She and I…" he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your mother's going to have a baby."

They were silent for a long moment, stunned, before Julian spoke.

"Y-You mean… you and Mother. Like with James."  
"Yes," Harry nodded, wishing he could read Julian as well as Alana could.  
"I'm… I'm going to have another brother?" James asked.  
"You both are, yeah," Harry said. "Or maybe a sister. Your mother's living in the country right now, would you like to go there this summer?"  
"But… what are you and Mother going to do?" James asked, looking up at him.

Harry hesitated; should he tell them about the marriage? One look at Julian's face answered his question. No, the boys didn't need to know yet.

"We'll continue on just as we are," he said, sounding upbeat. "I'm still your guardian, we'll all live together, and we'll be happy, won't we?"

The boys glanced at each other for a long moment before nodding.

"Yeah," James said. "One big happy family."

They headed indoors soon afterwards. Julian soon veered off to go to the Slytherin common room, his mind reeling.

Julian Malfoy was, in general, a quiet person. It wasn't that he was a timid or boring person; far from it. It was just that he, like his parents and grandparents before him, valued silence as a tool of power and as a respite from the perpetual, hectic chatter of daily life. Also much like his family, Julian's mood could be judged by the quality of silence that surrounded him. Sometimes, the silence was light and peaceful; sometimes it was still and thoughtful. And sometimes, like now, the silence was black and oppressive, choking all attempts at speech and even repelling overtures of company. It was at times like this that Julian became trapped in his silence; its slave rather than its master.

There had been times, many years ago, when Draco Malfoy had forsaken his favorite couch before the fireplace, and had instead ensconced himself in a leather wingback armchair secluded in a shadowy corner, there to brood for hours at a time. Tonight found his son sitting in that exact spot, knees drawn under pointed chin, gray eyes darkened in thought.

A baby. Good Salazar, Mother was having a baby. With Harry.

A hot, deep anger fueled by jealousy flowed through his veins, lava chasing his icy composure away. So Mother was having a baby? Well, wasn't that just bloody wonderful. She and Harry could give James a new sibling, and they could form a whole new family of black-haired, green-eyed coherency.

There was clearly no place for him in that family. For one thing, he looked different. Where James actually looked like Harry and Alana, Julian was every bit his father's son. How could he hope to assimilate into his mother's new family when he was so clearly from her old life?

It wasn't just a physical difference, either. James and Harry- and even his mother, to a point- were Potters. Friends to Muggles and magic folk alike, not giving a care for standing or the established order. Harry and James both collected a following of outcasts and oddballs and those just dazzled by the Savior's fame. Julian, however, was a Malfoy; the _only_ Malfoy heir, for that matter. Julian was the last scion of a branch of wizard aristocracy, a world of blue blood and old money. His mother had turned her back on that world, but Julian had not. There was an inherent dignity and grandeur in the weight of his name; a power he had that James didn't. Potter was flashy and celebrity; Malfoy was as ancient and enduring as stone.

His mother had belonged to that world, once, and had commanded it. But she had walked away from it all, and for what? Was Savior Potter really so much better than Julian's own father? What did England offer, really? His mother was being held prisoner in London- of course the Ministry used a more polite term, but the truth was that she was living under guard and close scrutiny. No one in the wizarding world trusted her- not even Harry's closest friends, even though his mother had done nothing to harm them; she had even at one time worked for them, for Merlin's sake. She had given up being a Malfoy, she was having another child with Harry… and why? Why was her current prison and isolation so much better than the freedom of being a Malfoy?

No, Julian didn't fit into his mother's new life. He belonged to his father's world, to the world where his blue blood went back thousands of years and his magic ran deep and pure, a world of money, prestige and power. His father had been on top of the world, and Julian intended to restore his family's good name.

His family… His family was his grandmother, his relatives in Spain, his cousin Tizzi. Tizzi was his favorite. His mother had never mentioned her, but Tizzi's mother was his father's aunt. Tizzi was several years older than he, but it didn't matter; they both belonged to the same world, and they enjoyed each other's company through the letters they sent. Tizzi had started writing to him once her mother learned that Alana had returned to England. The letters were their secret; neither of their mothers knew about their correspondence. Julian told Tizzi about Hogwarts and what little he knew of Harry's involvement in the war; she told him of Spain, and stories of his father. Julian lived for those stories. True, his grandmother and mother gave him his father's possessions, told him that he was so very similar to Draco. But Tizzi told him stories, and in those tales Draco began to live again. He'd been strong, brave, resourceful, clever, ambitious; everything that Julian strove to live up to.

Yes, let Mother keep Harry and the baby. Julian had a family of his own, and one who wouldn't turn their backs on him.

* * *

17 May 2020  
Leto Semele groaned as she Apparated into the cemetery. It had been a very long week; she had revealed her pregnancy to Tisiphone, since there was no longer any way to hide her belly. Of course, she had claimed that the child was Roman's. As Voldemort had when Alana was pregnant with James, Tisiphone had been ecstatic at the news. After all, Roman would surely be distracted by his impending fatherhood; it was the perfect time to dispose of him. Tisiphone had even graciously permitted Leto to step out of the Death Squad so as not to endanger herself or the child she carried. Instead, her role as double agent was given increased importance.

She was supposed to be in her hotel room in Madrid, spending the day relaxing. Instead, she was walking through an English cemetery, to make her peace with a ghost.

"Hello, Ginny," she murmured.

She stood awkwardly before the tombstone, her arms wrapped around her burgeoning torso. Merlin, what was she doing? She had no right to be here. For Salazar's sake, she had been the one to reunite Harry and Ginny after Harry's release from the Death Eaters' prison! What was she doing now claiming him for herself?

"Your brother would kill me if he knew I was here," she said ruefully. "And I must say, I don't exactly blame him. I realize that I don't have much of a right to Harry, not after all we've been through."

She stood quietly for a long moment. The earth, the air, the grave before her… all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting, straining to hear what she had to say.

"I'm not trying to take your place," she stated. "I'm not even trying to reclaim _my_ place, if I ever truly had one. I just… Harry and I have a son. We're going to have another child. We're a family now… at least, we're trying to be. I just want you to know… we haven't forgotten you. Either of us. And I don't want him to forget you. I was just hoping that… perhaps… we could share him. There's plenty of room in his life for the both of us."

She sensed the earth exhaling, the air flowing like a sigh. The tension leached out of the atmosphere, and Alana was left with a sense of acceptance. Ginny may not have liked her in life, but in death she'd given Alana her blessing to do… what, exactly? Enjoy her family? Care for Harry, perhaps even…? Well, whatever it was Alana had permission for, she thanked Ginny from the bottom of her heart.

* * *

Harry knew it the instant Alana got to Hogwarts. It didn't matter how graceful Alana was, one could _not_ be graceful clambering out of a fireplace after traveling via the Floo network. Especially not when one was pregnant. Leaving his office, he hurried upstairs, drawing Alana into his arms and kissing her. When he pulled away, he was treated to her beautiful smile, the one he thought never to see again.

"You're late," he chastised her with a kiss.  
"I was running errands," she defended herself, threading her arms around his neck.  
"Excuses, excuses," he muttered, bending to taste her neck.  
"Maybe you should punish me, Headmaster," she purred.

He didn't need to be told twice.

Two hours later they lay entwined in bed, sleepy and sated. Alana lay her head on Harry's shoulder, playing with his fingers, while he played with her hair.

"You know, we still haven't discussed names," she said.  
"Mmm, alright," he yawned, placing a couple more pillows behind himself and shifting into a semi-seated position as Alana curled into his side. "Do you want another J name?"  
"No," she shook her head decisively. "I like Cassius or Orion, for a boy. But neither of those really go with Potter."  
"Not many traditional Pureblood names do," he said. "What about Tom?"  
"Harry James Potter, I am not naming my child after Voldemort, and I should _Crucio_ you for even joking about it," Alana said heatedly. "What about Remus?"  
"Alright. I think Lupin would like that," Harry nodded, his fingers sliding from her hair to trace whimsical patterns along her bare back.  
"And could his middle name be Roman?" Alana asked, tilting her head back to look at him.  
"Remus Roman?" Harry asked, his mouth quirking in a smile.  
"I know it's a bit of a tongue-twister, but I'd really like to honor Roman," Alana said. "He's been so helpful to me…"  
"Whatever you want," Harry nodded, kissing her forehead. "What about a girl?"  
"You get no say in that. We name her Lily Charlotte," Alana stated.

Harry stared at her, surprised. Yes, he had wanted to name a girl for his mother, but he hadn't expected Alana to proffer it.

"Thank you," he managed to choke out.  
She looked up at him. "From everything I've heard, your mother was a rare woman. I'd be honored if our daughter grew up to be like her."

That was the last thing either of them said for quite a while.

* * *

01 June 2020  
Harry leaned back in his seat in his compartment of the Hogwarts Express, seemingly lost in the latest Auror reports while James and Julian ate their way through a mountain of candy from the trolley. While the boys entered glucose paradise, Harry slipped into reminiscence.

One year. It had been one solid year since he'd boarded this train, headed towards Marseille with James and clutching a black, leather-bound journal. One year since he'd gone to France with the intention of learning the truth about a woman he'd once loved, a woman he'd assumed for years to be his enemy. And here he was a year later, on his way home to his pregnant wife, their sons in tow.

What a year it had been, he mused. What a riotous roller coaster of a year. Marriage to Alana. James his son in name as well as biology. A child on the way. Bellatrix dead. Alana turning double agent again. Another war erupted.

And what a war it was. Things were as bad as Harry had ever seen them; cities paralyzed by fear, the air smelling of magic and death. He'd already promised himself to the fight this summer. Alana was right, people needed a hero to believe in. And for better or for worse, he was the Savior.

He glanced up as the train slowed to a stop. Shaking his head at the mess the boys had made, Harry withdrew his wand from his pocket and waved it at the wrappers, which promptly disappeared.

"Alright boys, let's go," Harry smiled, tucking his papers into his briefcase.  
"Is Mother here?" Julian asked.  
"She's waiting for us at Grimmauld Place," Harry replied, fervently hoping that Alana had managed to get away from the Death Eater croquet match or whatever had been scheduled for that day.

After corralling the boys, the luggage, and their owls, Harry somehow managed to marshal them all to the car where an Auror, disguised in Muggle clothing, was waiting to drive them through London. Normally, Harry wouldn't bother with such a precaution, but since he had the boys he figured it couldn't hurt to have the protection. A ten-minute drive brought them to Grimmauld. Harry hustled the boys inside, wary lest any Death Eaters be watching. He shut the door and locked it…

And then he, like the boys, stared in awe.

Fairy lights were strung along the ceiling. Every possible surface was covered in flickering candles. Soft music played, and mouthwatering smells issued from the kitchen. They found Alana in the living room, setting down platters of food. She was garbed in loose, light, gauzy robes in deference to her swelling belly; she looked as though she were floating.

"Mother!" the boys exclaimed in glee.

A moment later they were a tangle of limbs, and the music was drowned out by the sounds of their laughter.

"What's all this?" Harry asked.  
"I figured that if we couldn't go to the Marseille homecoming party, I'd bring the party to us," Alana replied, smiling.  
Harry grinned. "Then I guess I should ask you to dance."

And right on cue, their song began to play. They both smiled as he took her hand and led her in the dance, moving gently so she wouldn't get dizzy or tired. For a moment there was no war, no Grimmauld Place, no James or Julian or even a baby. For a moment, there was just Hal and Lana. Just them; just us. And that was perfect.

The moment had to end, of course, but even when it did everything was still wonderful. They had a huge meal of Alana's cooking [which was surprisingly good, given that she'd been served by house elves for most of her life], then settled before the fire for games of Exploding Snap and wizard's chess.

"Alright, boys, concerning this summer," Alana said, stroking her belly as the baby kicked. "You'll be doing a good amount of traveling. Harry and I both have jobs with the Ministry, so you'll be bouncing back and forth between here and staying with your grandmother."

Harry and Alana's eyes met over the boys' heads. They'd worked this plan out a few weeks ago, so that Alana could continue her work in Spain and Harry could run missions with the Aurors without putting the boys in jeopardy.

"You have a job?" Julian asked, confused. "But you don't like the Ministry."  
"True enough," Alana replied wryly. "But they needed my help. I'm afraid we may not see much of each other until after the baby's born."  
"This work… it's not dangerous, is it?" James asked worriedly.  
"Of course not, darling," Alana lied smoothly. "It's just very time-consuming. Anyways, you're not to worry, understand? Everything's going to be alright."

Thus reassured, the boys went upstairs to bed. For a moment, Harry and Alana just looked at each other. Then, as one, they stood and met in the middle. The kiss wasn't passionate or sexual; it was life-affirming. Acknowledging, almost desperately so, that they were alive, that they would soon be in grave danger, that their feelings- while unstated, unlabeled and largely unexamined- were genuine.

"And so the summer begins," Alana murmured.  
"It'll be the beginning of the end," he promised.  
"Or just the end of the beginning," she said darkly.

* * *

31 July 2020  
The summer had been gruesome. Blood spilled daily, the death toll steadily climbing higher, Muggle and wizard alike being injured, or worse, permanently handicapped either physically or mentally. The fighting had been vicious and dirty, battles being fought day and night, in city streets, all across Europe. The dementors had been breeding, and Tisiphone had sent them out to attack. Countries began to fall to her, and the alliances the Order had made didn't look like they'd be enough to turn the tide.

It was in the midst of this grim atmosphere that Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior- was celebrating his 32nd birthday.

Harry had spent the past two months traveling. During the school months he had been reading reports, designing attacks; now he was out in the field. It was the last place he wanted to be, but the world was crying out for its Savior. People wanted the great Harry Potter to defeat this enemy, so he was doing his best.

Besides, doing this kept his mind off of Alana.

She had been deeply involved in the war, much more than anyone except a small handful of high-ranking Ministry officials knew about. Due to her delicate condition, Tisiphone had made her role mostly an organizational one, which was perfect. She could report the Death Eaters' movements to Roman, and he and the Aurors would find a way to engage combat- without putting Alana's cover in danger, of course. Aurors were dying, but at least Tisiphone's resources were being attacked, which in turn slowed her down.

It hadn't been Harry's idea to have this party; Merlin knew he wasn't in the mood to celebrate. Roman had actually been the one to put this party together, as a way for everyone to blow off steam and escape reality for a few precious hours. In Harry's opinion, the only good thing about tonight was that his arms were around his heavily pregnant wife.

She was due in about 2 ½ more weeks. Harry had no idea what was going to happen after the baby was born. Would Alana return to England? Would she remain in Madrid? How would Harry manage to see his child? Alana had said she hoped to have answers for him soon, but for now there was a cloud of inquiry around the entire blessed event.

Alana sighed softly, leaning her head back against Harry's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting over their busily dancing child.

"Next year you'll have a proper birthday," she sighed. "We'll be home in London, you'll be surrounded by family, we'll have presents."

He said nothing, only buried his face in the crook of her neck. Part of every letter she sent him contained her plans for their future, after the war was over. She planned gardens for Grimmauld Place, and parties she would throw in said garden, grand dinners, family outings- anything that wasn't involved with Terror Brigades or Death Squads or war reports. She was starved for normality, and he ached with the knowledge that he couldn't give it to her.

"Someday," he whispered the promise into her ear. "Someday, my star."

* * *

16 August 2020  
It had been a long week for Harry, filled with nightmarish visions he'd never be free of- more to add to the arsenal of horrible things he'd seen in his life. All he wanted to do was Apparate to Prague, pick up the boys from Narcissa, and enjoy a couple of weeks at home with them before they went back to Hogwarts and he went back to work.

The decision not to return to Hogwarts had been a difficult one. He was, after all, the Headmaster, and he loved his little kingdom. But in the end, he was first and foremost the Savior. He was in command of the Order of the Phoenix [risen from the ashes once again, reborn of former Order members and friends from the old DA crowd]. He had to fight this fight before he could return to his old life.

He cursed Voldemort, the war, the Ministry, the media, and his own nature for his inability to escape the pedestal he'd been placed upon. His star had never shined brighter; his fame was probably equal to Dumbledore's now. He was the first, last, and only hope of the wizarding world; how could he possibly allow himself to fail when everyone had pinned all their hopes on him?

Harry glanced around his office. He was in Budapest this week. Every week, he changed locations. Every week he set up the defensive spells around his space and swore he was living through the extended Horcrux-hunt camping trip again. Every week, he secretly connected his fireplace to a hotel in Madrid and Shacklebolt's office through the Floo network. And every week, he'd pray that this would be the week when it would end.

"Harry!"

He whipped towards the fireplace, startled. The urgency and panic in Roman's voice couldn't be good…

"Roman, what's wrong?" he snapped, tense.  
"Alana's water broke," Roman reported. "I brought her to St. Mungo's, she's in a room now."  
"I'll be right there," Harry croaked, stunned.

He flew into motion, packing an overnight bag with mindless haste before Apparating to the house Narcissa was renting in Prague. He burst through the door, ignoring the startled house elf, and sprinted down the hall, screaming for the boys.

"Dad?" came James' panicked voice, a moment before the boy himself appeared in the doorway. "What's wrong?"  
"Your mum's in labor," Harry panted. "Grab Julian, time to go."

A moment later, the boys and Narcissa hurried to him. Harry frowned at Narcissa in surprise, a look which she returned.

"Alana may be your wife, but she is my daughter and I _will_ be there," she said stiffly.

Ignoring the shocked looks on the boys' faces at this unintentional revelation, Harry and Narcissa Apparated them all to St. Mungo's, where they were directed into a waiting room that already contained an anxious Roman.

"Anyone looking would assume you were the father," Harry greeted him dryly.  
"Well, that is the idea," Roman shot back, drawing Harry aside. "A battle broke out in the street while she was shopping. She's alright, but the stress caused her to pop."  
"Bollocks," Harry sighed, rubbing his face. "How long now?"  
"Any minute," Roman said, shaking his head. "She managed to get word to Tisiphone about what happened."  
"Bollocks!" Harry said again, vehemently. "What if she comes here? It'll be a bloodbath."  
"We have to hope she doesn't," Roman replied. "And if she does, we take care of it."

There was nothing to do but wait, so wait they did. Harry contacted Ron and Hermione, who came to sit with him and serve as backup should a fight arise, but other than that all that could be done was to sip at mediocre, acidic, weak, cold coffee and pace restlessly. Finally, at 9:23 pm, a Healer came into the waiting room.

"Mr. Potter, your wife delivered a healthy baby girl," he said. "Mother and child are both fine. Would you like to see them?"

Relief flooded through his veins, leaving him weak. Unable to formulate words, he merely nodded, wobbling as he followed the Healer down the hall and into Alana's room.

She was sitting up in bed, cradled by a couple of pillows. She looked exhausted, but clearly pleased with herself as she stared down at the bundle of pink blankets in her arms. When she looked up at him, he could've sworn her green eyes were filled with starlight.

"Come see," she beckoned him.

He moved forward slowly, unable to breathe around the lump in his throat. Carefully, he relieved Alana of her burden, gingerly holding the warm bundle close, and he stared down at the tiny, red, wrinkled monkey face of his daughter.

One look, and his heart was lost.

"Hello, Lily," he whispered, his arms tightening around her. "I'm your father. Welcome to the world."


	19. A Plot's Afoot, a Well Made Plan

**Author's Note**: This chapter is my Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/Yule/what have you present to you. I'm definitely not going to be around until after Christmas- possibly not until after New Year's. So I figured I'd go ahead and post this now. I'm kind of upset with myself; I would've liked to have this whole story posted before January. Maybe I can still make that happen, but... it's not looking likely. Ah well.

I hopscotch in time again with this chapter. Mostly because I didn't want to write another chapter or two of constant battles and such. I think I suck at writing battle sequences. But despite the time jump, I like this chapter. Especially James' and Julian's POVs. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

20 August 2020  
As Alana stepped through the fireplace into the Headmaster's office, she drew her first easy breath in months. Now that she was here, safely hidden away in Hogwarts… now, incredibly, it was nearly over. Her arrival here was only the first step in a plan that would bring down the Death Eaters and their thrice-accursed war.

While Alana had been in St. Mungo's, convalescing from childbirth, she and Harry had been plotting. The birth of their daughter had served only to drive home how urgently they needed to end this business. They were tired, battleworn; their fatigue showed in the shadows behind their eyes and the strain in their smiles. Lily's birth should have been a joyous occasion; instead, it only served to remind them of their startling, frail mortality. Either of them could die at any moment, leaving the other- and their children- behind. The war needed to end, now, so that they could live.

Unsurprisingly, it had been Alana who came up with their plan of attack. For the entirety of their relationship, Alana had always been the planner, the analyzer. Of the two of them, she was the one who could look at a messy situation with a scientist's eye, dissecting it with a clinical precision and reassembling it into a workable solution. Since beginning this undercover mission, she had been reading treatises on military strategy both Muggle and magical, and it was from these studies that she formulated a plan of systematic retreat.

The plan was simple, really. Alana, as Leto, would inform Tisiphone that she and Roman were leaving Spain for a time, to introduce their infant daughter to her grandparents in England before traveling to Greece, where Leto's family supposedly lived. As Roman was such a close friend of Harry's, it made perfect sense that both he and Leto would be invited to a private Halloween party being thrown on Hogwarts grounds. It would be the perfect opportunity for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts and attack. It was a trap, of course, with Harry and Alana serving as the bait. Instead of an unaware group of partygoers, the Death Eaters would find a full squadron of Aurors [who would be pulled out of Europe as much as possible] and Order members, ready and willing to fight.

There were, of course, objections to this plan. Mostly from Harry. He was uneasy using Hogwarts as the setting for this battle, allowing the Death Eaters to come so close to his sanctuary. There was also the question of the students' security- he could of course issue orders that the students were to be confined to their dorms for the evening, but how could he ensure that the students would obey? He also didn't like the idea of both he and Alana putting themselves at risk like this. There was a high risk for injury or death with this plan; it was going to be an ugly fight to the death, a desperate last struggle to end the war once and for all. What if one- or Merlin forbid, both- of them was hurt or killed? What would happen to the children? What would happen to _them_ (since there definitely was a _them_ now, even if they hadn't gotten around to discussing what exactly that meant)?

However, in the end, Harry had to admit that not only was it a good plan, but it was the only chance they had. And so here Alana was in the Headmaster's office, her sleeping daughter in her arms and a bespelled trunk floating in midair beside her. Harry's condition for this plan had been that Alana would hide herself in Hogwarts. It was a clever hiding place; no one would expect her to be there. She was free to stay in bed, regaining her strength, and to care for Lily while they waited for Halloween.

Alana bit her lip, glancing behind her as the flames in the fireplace changed from green to orange. There was one part of this plan that she really didn't like, and that was the part Harry had carved out for himself. While she was ensconced in Hogwarts, trussed up like a Christmas goose, Harry would be in Spain, aiding the Aurors and other Ministry soldiers in systematically withdrawing from the area in the hopes of drawing Tisiphone to England. She knew he was the Savior and knew he felt responsible for leading all those fighting against the Death Eaters, but she had still very much objected to Harry putting himself in constant danger like that. His response had been, "You've done so much for this war. Now it's my turn." How exactly was she supposed to fight against a sentiment like that? She couldn't, and he knew very well that she couldn't.

Whoever had taught Harry to play dirty should, in Alana's opinion, be trampled by a herd of angry hippogriffs.

However, said trampling would have to wait. Whether she liked it or not, Harry was in Spain- Majorca at the moment, she believed- and she was in Scotland. She might as well make herself at home; she'd be living in these apartments for the next two months. Waving her wand at her trunk, Alana walked up into Harry's quarters, rocking the baby gently. A few well-placed waves of her wand unpacked and enlarged the baby furniture she'd been carrying in her purse; after setting it into place Alana laid Lily down in her bassinette and got to work unpacking her trunk. It was a good thing she had a baby to look after, she reflected; were it not for Lily, Alana would likely be bored silly being trapped up here, cut off from everyone else in the castle, even her own sons.

* * *

10 October 2020  
Harry was operating on a countdown, a schedule he'd set for himself. He'd agreed to Alana's madcap plan, because he knew that when it came to strategy and planning, there was potentially no one on earth who could rival his wife. However, he'd put his own time frame on her battle plan. He was going to make sure that all of this- the systematic retreat, the battles necessary to keep the ports, Network fireplaces, and Portkeys open so the Aurors could get out- was over in two days. Harry was going to be at Hogwarts for James' birthday come hell or high water, and so he was working himself to the bone in order to make that deadline.

It was dangerous work, there was no doubt about that. Harry would enter a town under cover of darkness, contact all the Aurors, Order members, or other Ministry warriors residing there, help them pack up, and then help them get the hell out. Quite often, this involved providing a distraction for the local Death Eaters- usually in the form of letting them see his face, and engaging them in battle. It was rare that Harry got out of those battles unscathed; the Death Eaters always aimed to kill. He usually walked away from those battles limping and bleeding, but at least he walked away.

Alana would probably kill him if she knew the extent of the risks he was taking. He had to say that for the former Death Eater queen; for all that she had been Voldemort's premier weapon and the leader of countless raids, she really and truly detested bloodshed. Alana preferred psychological warfare to hand to hand combat. Harry knew full well that she had constructed her plan in an effort to keep the bloodshed as minimal as possible, and the risks he was taking weren't helping. However, Harry didn't see any other way to draw the Death Eaters out of hiding. He was the perfect bait, and he took full advantage of that.

Everything would be worth it once he'd returned home, he reassured himself for the thousandth time. The risks, the injuries, the constant crushing stress, the brutal reality that he could be killed at any moment… it would all be worth it when he came home to Hogwarts. Alana would be waiting there with Lily, and they would throw James a birthday party, and everything would be alright.

In the interests of getting finished by the deadline he'd set himself, Harry had been traveling with Ron for the past two weeks. Hermione was, of course, livid with the pair of them, but after all someone had to stay home with Molly and Sev. Besides, Harry and Ron had reckoning to do. They hadn't spoken much since March, since that awful fight about Alana and the baby. And Harry had grown up enough in the past fourteen years or so to realize that they were behaving like imbeciles. When they were facing death, destruction and utter ruin, arguing like schoolboys was absolutely moronic.

Apparently Ron had been thinking along the same lines, because he began speaking as they trudged down the silent, darkened street.

"I've been thinking," he said softly, his face concealed in shadows. "I don't get why you chose Alana, probably never will. But… I'm happy for you, Harry. Lily's a beautiful little girl, you're lucky."

He said nothing more, but the silence they maintained was easy now, laced with the love that comes of twenty years of friendship instead of fraught with tension, as it had been for the past several months. As far as apologies went, most people would probably find it lacking. But that was how it had always gone for them. Neither of them liked discussing their feelings, so neither of them ever said they were sorry. They made silent concessions to each other in a language that only they understood, and that was enough for them. All arguments and snarking aside, they were best friends, brothers, and neither would let that bond between them die.

Peace restored, they turned their attention back to work, preparing to save the world once again.

* * *

12 October 2010  
James had always liked his birthday. He loved the month of October- the leaves turning colors on the trees, the frisky breezes, achingly beautiful days turning into cool nights perfect for sleeping. His mother had always made her sons' birthdays into Events, even when it was only the three of them celebrating; cake and presents and the room fit to bursting with decorations.

Last year, James hadn't missed his mother too terribly much; she had sent him a care package of sweets and a book or two as a birthday present, and despite the fact that he was away from home he'd appreciated that his mother had still tried to make it festive for him. This year, however, was a different story. With the world embroiled in a war and both his parents gone, James felt very much alone, and he found himself longing most fiercely for a birthday party. Just a simple birthday party, one where they were all together- him, Julian, Mother and Dad, even the new baby sister he'd only gotten to see a couple of times. He didn't even care if he didn't get any presents [at least, he wouldn't care much]; he just craved all of them being together.

Alas, it wasn't to be. His father was in Europe, doing something terribly important for the Ministry [he knew it was terribly important because no one would talk about it]; his mother was tied up in London doing something or other [which must be even more important, because no one even knew exactly where she was]. His dreams of an elaborate birthday party would have to remain just that- dreams.

At least he had his brother. As it was a Saturday, the two of them had stuck together all day, playing endless games of Exploding Snap in one of the courtyards. James missed Julian these days. Last year, they had sent each other innumerable letters, James crowing about how wonderful Hogwarts was, Julian telling him all about the pranks he'd played on their mother. This year, even though they were in the same building, they hardly ever saw each other. Part of that was because they were in classes and their schedules didn't align; part of that was because James was a Gryffindor and the son of the great Harry Potter, while Julian was a Slytherin and the son of the infamous Draco Malfoy. Most days, their Houses kept them separate. Today, however, they had broken the tradition of Gryffindors and Slytherins being bitter enemies and rivals in order to just be brothers.

"Got you something," Julian said at length.

He sat up off his stomach, digging about in his coat pocket before producing a slightly squished bag of black licorice wands with a triumphant face. He offered it to his brother, a grin on his face.

"I didn't have enough money to buy you a box of Honeydukes," he explained.  
"That's alright," James said, accepting the bag. "Thanks."  
"We'll have a party on our own, even if Mother isn't here," Julian said. "We can sneak into the Astronomy Tower or something."  
"Maybe we could break into Dad's office and borrow the Map," James said thoughtfully. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind…"  
"There will be no stealing of my map, James Sirius Potter."  
"Oh for shame, Hal. I'm sure your father would be overjoyed if his grandson managed to steal the map, seeing as it really should belong to him now."

Two heads- one dark, one fair- shot up in surprise; two pairs of eyes- one green, one gray- stared in amazement at the sight before them. Because standing in the courtyard was not only Harry, but Alana as well, Lily in her arms. They both looked weather-beaten; Harry's cloak was spattered in mud and Alana looked as though she hadn't slept in weeks. Each had dark shadows under their eyes, both had lost weight. Each looked as though they had accepted the weight of the world from Atlas' shoulders. However, they were here.

James and Julian jumped up at the same time, sprinting forward. James threw his arms around Harry, Julian embraced Alana, and for a long moment the courtyard reverberated with the happy sounds of reunion.

"When did you get in?" Julian asked, a bright smile on his face.  
"Just a few minutes ago," Harry replied, taking the baby from Alana's arms so she could hug James. "Professor McGonagall told us you were out here."  
"We came to celebrate your birthday, darling," Alana smiled. "It only seemed fair, since we were all together for Julian's birthday."  
James looked positively beatific. "How long are you here?" he asked, hope in his shining eyes.  
"Until after Halloween," Alana smiled. "Perhaps if we ask nicely, the Headmaster will let you two have meals in his chambers with me."  
"I think that could be arranged," Harry grinned.

James and Julian exchanged ecstatic glances while Harry and Alana conjured up a picnic basket for them all to share. Yes, the world had grown very dark lately, but it was wonderful that they could still be together like this. Like a family.

* * *

Slytherin House was quiet as its crown prince walked into the common room. After spending the rest of the afternoon and the entire evening with James, Alana, Lily and Harry, Julian had to admit that it was something of a relief to return to his own dormitory, to the world he instinctively understood and effortlessly ruled.

Julian, Malfoy to the core, would have rather died than admit it, but he had been very much afraid since summer. He didn't like knowing that his mother was out in the world, risking her life every day, while he remained helpless in school. The Daily Prophet faithfully reported the staggering amounts of casualties this war was causing, and every day Julian feared that he would see his mother's name listed among the dead. It had been good to see her; her presence had been balm poured on the wound of his anxiety.

At the same time, though, it had been uncomfortable and even painful to remain with them. Watching James and Harry's easy affection, seeing Alana smile at the pair of them while she cradled the baby… it had only been another reminder that this was a family that Julian would never fully fit into. When faced with that all-encompassing truth, it was a relief to disappear into the shadowy world of the Slytherin dormitory, to seek solace in surroundings that hadn't changed since Julian's father [and grandfather, even] had attended school.

Julian sank onto the comfortable leather couch situated before the fireplace, kicking his feet up. The firelight flickered over his angular features as he stretched out on the sofa, lost in thought. Slytherin House was in an interesting predicament at the moment. Most of the Death Eaters had pulled their children out of Hogwarts when the war broke out in favor of Durmstrang. Those few who remained were at once bullied, scorned, and feared by the rest of the student body. Julian had been quick to defend his Housemates against the bullies, the combination of his father's name and his mother's infamy enough to silence most of his opposition. For those who claimed not to be intimidated by his biological parents' legacies, all Julian had to do was mention the name of his guardian to end all discussions. After all, who was fool enough to invoke the wrath of the Savior, especially when said Savior was also their Headmaster [in absentia though he may be]?

The Slytherins, always clannish, had rallied behind Julian, claiming him as their leader despite his young age. And he found that he enjoyed the power that came with being the Slytherin Prince; love of power, after all, came with the territories of being a Slytherin and a Malfoy. It was his birthright; hadn't his father and his grandfather before him both held the title? If Lucius and Draco Malfoy had both led their House, why shouldn't Julian follow their example? Who better to lead the Slytherins than a Malfoy?

When he finally went up to bed, Julian found a letter waiting on his pillow. He grinned as he snatched up Tizzi's latest correspondence.

_Jules —_

_Life is very exciting here. The war has turned everyone's heads; everyone rushes around with an energy that's electric. Something is soon to happen— something none of us kids are allowed to know about, but it __**must**__ be big, because we're all moving from Madrid to England._

_I can't believe it! I've never been out of Spain in my life, and now I get to come to England! Go shopping on Diagon Alley, see the family halls, everything I've wanted for so long._

_Best of all, a few of our relatives are bringing me for a visit to Hogwarts. Isn't it wonderful? We can finally meet in person! I want you to show me everything, Jules— Slytherin House, and Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack, the Forbidden Forest._

_I'll be there Halloween night. Would you let me into the castle? Meet me at the main door at midnight. I can't wait to see you!_

_Tizzi_


	20. A Star Goes Out

**Author's Note**: I don't want to say much about this chapter, because I don't want to spoil the surprise. However, if you get to the end and start contemplating death threats, just remember- if I were a truly evil author, I would end the story here, instead of giving you one more chapter after this. Enjoy!

31 October 2020  
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was a sight to behold, a vision of black, orange and gold. The long tables had been cleared away to make room for dancing. Pumpkins and gourds overflowed in the corners. In place of the House banners, golden streamers and pennants had been hung. Innumerable golden candles hung overhead, competing with the illusion of the stars on the ceiling. The hall was ready for a party that wasn't to be.

In normal years where there were no wars, Halloween had been a favorite holiday of the students of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall, during her tenure as Headmistress, had begun a tradition of a Halloween dance, a custom which Headmaster Potter had upheld. In years past, Halloween had been a night of loud music and delicious treats brought in from London and Hogsmeade. The school ghosts would flock to join the living attendants, Peeves would play pranks, and everyone would be incredibly jolly.

This year, however, the school was on lockdown. This year, there was a war going on, a war that had invaded even into Hogwarts' hallowed halls. This year, the students had been ushered into their dormitories, and the Headmaster and Professors had bewitched the entrances, keeping the students locked inside. The Headmaster had stood up during breakfast and announced that _any_ student- even the prefects and Head Boy and Girl- found wandering outside of the dormitories would be immediately expelled from school. Tonight, instead of entertaining the students, Hogwarts' beloved Halloween Bash was being used to lure the Death Eaters into a trap.

They milled around the room as if they were attending a private party; after all, they reasoned, while they were waiting for the battle to begin they might as well enjoy the decorations. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter leaned against the head table with large glasses of pumpkin juice while Hermione danced with Clint Moss, who had graduated Auror Training with them. Moody stood off to one side, leaning heavily on his cane and speaking quietly with McGonagall while his magical eye constantly whizzed around, waiting for danger to present itself. A small cluster of junior Aurors huddled by the refreshment table, their faces tense with a mix of anticipation and fear. And on the dance floor, somehow managing to look as though they hadn't a care in the world, Roman Corona twirled Leto Semele.

Harry wasn't particularly pleased that Roman had the honor of dancing with his wife, but Alana had persuaded him that it was necessary for her to meet Tisiphone while still in disguise. Personally, Harry thought that was merely Alana giving in to a desire for a dramatic unveiling, but he held his peace and allowed her to carry on as she liked. However, he wasn't about to allow Alana to dance with Roman for this particular song…

He set his goblet down, pushing off the table and walking out to the dance floor, propelled by soft violin and the strains of a Spanish-sounding guitar. He held his hand out to Leto, a small smile on his face.

"I do believe this is my dance," he said.

Smiling, Leto allowed herself to be propelled into his arms, and they lost track of the rest of the world, bound by the music and their shared memories.

"What would your wife say if she saw us dancing like this, Mr. Potter?" she asked, tilting her head.  
"She'd probably kill you," he said nonchalantly, managing to keep a straight face. "She was a Death Eater, you know. They're a bit touchy."  
"So I've heard," she replied, amused. "You think she'd be jealous?"  
"Wouldn't you be?" Harry asked.  
"Yes," Leto nodded. "I daresay I would."  
"Don't tell her about this, then," Harry said, a moment before he broke their cover and leaned in to capture her lips.

Something was creeping through the shadows of the dungeons.

Or rather, someone. It had been immensely difficult for Julian Malfoy to creep around the castle, out of the notice of both the professors, the prefects, and his fellow students, but he'd managed it. He'd spent most of the day in the library, and when it came time for students to be cloistered away in their dormitories, he'd slipped into the kitchen. If anyone had noticed his absence, they hadn't come looking for him. When the house elves began bustling around, sending food up into the Great Hall for the Not-Really-A-Party Party, Julian had simply gone down into the dungeons, there to wait until close to midnight.

It had been wretchedly cold down there. He hadn't dared to light a fire for warmth, or even a candle for light, for fear of being caught. He had simply huddled into his thick woolen cloak, tucked himself as far as he could into the shadowy corner away from the door, and waited. Perhaps he had slept; maybe he had simply frozen. Either way, when his watch showed that it was fifteen till midnight, Julian had stood, forcing his numb limbs to work again.

Creeping upstairs had been perilous. Julian had kept to the shadows as much as he could, hardly daring to breathe. Fortunately, the professors were stationed outdoors as sentinels, and weren't prowling the halls. Cautiously, Julian crept to the main doors, tiptoeing silently past the Great Hall. He stared at the enormous double doors in anguish; how was he supposed to open them without anyone noticing?

At that exact moment, the clock began to toll the hour. The sound was deafening, echoing through the empty halls. Seizing his moment, Julian lunged for the handle, pulling with all his strength, praying that the booming chimes of the clock would mask the groaning of the heavy wooden door.

He looked outside, scanning the darkness. For a long moment he saw nothing; then he saw a stirring in the darkness. A procession of hooded and cloaked figures, approaching the castle quickly. There was one figure leading them, one who beneath the black cloak moved more fluidly than the others, with the gait of a young person. Julian's eyes narrowed as he tried to appraise the approaching person; could this be his cousin?

"Tizzi?" he breathed, hardly daring to speak.

The figure stopped before him, a pale, long-fingered hand pushing back the hood. Black hair framed her deathly pale face. Her mouth was cruel, her jaw ruthless. Her features were aristocratic, like Julian's own, but they were not tempered with any youth or compassion. And her eyes… her cold, emotionless blood red eyes… Julian swallowed hard, wondering just how big of a mistake he'd just made.

Tisiphone smiled at him coldly. "My my. Cousin Julian. You do look just like your father," she remarked, her voice devoid of any warmth. "Now come, cousin, welcome me to the British Isle. Show me Hogwarts, like we planned."

He didn't want to do it; every last one of his instincts fought against her command. But an alien force took over him, compelling him and guiding him down the hall.

"What have you done to me?" he demanded.  
"Imperious Curse," she replied calmly, one hand resting on his shoulder. "A great specialty of your grandfather's, as I understand. Though I shouldn't need to use it. I know you're loyal to our family, Jules, even if your traitorous mother isn't," she said, spitting out the last part.

Julian tried to fight Tisiphone's hold on him, but the sway of her curse was too strong. He was helpless to stop them as they neared the Great Hall.

The soft strains of guitar, cello, and violin filled the air. It was their song, Julian knew; Harry would be dancing with Mother, and for them the rest of the world would cease to exist. A moment later he didn't have to imagine it, because they were in the Great Hall. But it wasn't Alana in Harry's arms, it was a stranger with flame red hair who was kissing him as if she had every right to be there with him.

"How charming," Tisiphone said sardonically, her voice pitched to carry across the Hall. "Good work, Leto."

The woman broke away from Harry, who stepped behind her. In a moment, the Aurors and Order members had clustered around this Leto person, forming a wall of protection. Leto herself held her head high, not seeming afraid at all. Julian swallowed hard as the redheaded woman's gaze fell upon him. Her expression didn't change, nor did she give any sign that she knew him, but Julian had the uneasy feeling that he had saddened and disappointed her, that he had betrayed her by opening Hogwarts' doors to his cousin.

"Hello, Tisiphone," she said calmly. "Right on time."  
Tisiphone inclined her head. "Shall we begin?"  
"Yes, we shall," Leto replied. "But before we do, I think there's something you should know about the spy in your midst."  
"Spy?" Tisiphone asked, her pleasant demeanor cracking at the mention of a traitor.  
"Indeed," Leto said.

She inclined her head, and a moment later Julian's eyes widened in shock. Because Leto's red hair was lengthening, darkening until it was raven black and softly curled. She was growing taller, her features lengthening and softening from their pixie-like cast into something infinitely more familiar and precious. Only the eyes remained mostly the same; slanted, catlike eyes of jade green. Leto's silky blue robes became lustrous black satin, and around her neck was a silver and diamond pendant in the shape of an eight-point star. His beautiful mother, made of starshine… He tried to call out, to warn her, but the Imperious Curse had gagged him; he was helpless.

"Alana," Tisiphone breathed, every syllable laced with shock and hatred.  
"Hello Tisiphone," Alana said pleasantly, before her voice hardened into ice and steel. "Now kindly release my son."

Quick as lightning, Tisiphone whipped out her wand.

"Avada Kedavra."  
"NO!"

Had the scream come from him or from Harry, or perhaps from both? Julian's eyes widened in horror as the world slowed. He saw the sickly green of the spell as it moved through the air in slow motion, saw Alana's eyes widen, saw a faint sheen of silver begin to wrap around her as she tried to Wish herself to safety. There was a flash of green-

"MOTHER!"

The curse over Julian shattered. He sprinted for his mother, but he knew it was too late. Her body was limp on the floor, her eyes wide and unseeing. He didn't need to see the look in Harry's eyes to understand; his mother was dead, and it was all his fault.

The fighting broke out instantly, Order member pitted against Death Eater in a fierce struggle for survival. In the same moment, Julian stood, his eyes on fire. Fists clenched, he turned on Tisiphone, who stood quietly watching the melee.

"You lied to me!" he screamed.  
"I did not," Tisiphone replied. "This is what your family is, Julian. This is who we truly are. What your father was. He spent his entire life fighting against this pathetic Order and their love of Mudbloods and Muggles. He fought to keep wizards separate, to keep our magic pure. And your worthless mother betrayed him! Turned her back on everything he believed in to have a bastard with _him_," she spat, jerking her head towards Harry. "This is your family's side, Julian. Are you with us or against us?"  
"You killed my mother," Julian said, trembling with rage.  
"I executed a traitor," Tisiphone replied.

Julian whipped out his wand, the words to the most Unforgivable of all curses on his lips. But Tisiphone was slightly faster, and for the second time in ten minutes, a flash of green ended a life.

Tisiphone stared down at Julian's body impassively for a moment before walking forward, stepping over his corpse as her eyes met the horrified gaze of the Savior.

"Harry Potter," she said softly. "You cannot know how I have dreamed of this moment."

He made no reply. What could he say to this person, this being without a soul who had murdered his wife and stepson in cold blood with no remorse? She had destroyed half of Harry's family in mere moments; there was only one thing to do.

They bowed, saluting each other a split second before the spells started flying. Harry fought with a singleminded ferocity, his mind on nothing but killing this woman. Tisiphone for her part dodged and feinted, even flew at points, returning his spells with magic so potent that there was no way it was hers.

"You're a Horcrux, aren't you?" he bellowed.  
She laughed mockingly, rising into the air. "I am the repository of all of my father's knowledge and magic, Harry Potter. You cannot defeat me!"

Harry snarled, raising his wand. He wasted no time with replies; he took advantage of her laughter and took aim. A quiet "Avada Kedavra," and Tisiphone's laughter was cut short. She collapsed to the floor, and then there was silence.

The Order members rounded up what few Death Eaters hadn't been killed already and bound them. It was over, for real this time. These Death Eaters had been Tisiphone's entire force, and they would be put into Azkaban. Tisiphone's death had buried Voldemort forever; it was finished.

And yet, as Harry sank onto the ground by the bodies of Alana and Julian, he had to ask himself… was it worth it?


	21. Shooting Star

**Author's Note**: This chapter has the dubious honor of being the only chapter in this entire story that I completely scrapped and rewrote. Many of the other chapters were heavily edited, expanded [or created during the editing process], or in some way changed, but I always used what I already had. With this chapter, however, not one single word of the original text was used. I knew from very early on that this would be the case; the original chapter was horribly written and only about two pages long. But for a long time, I assumed that I'd just be expanding it. It wasn't until I was editing chapter 18 that I realized this chapter would need to be scrapped and redone. I love this new version. It's still on the short side, but I think it really ties up the loose ends and brings the story to a conclusion.

Yes, this is the end of the story. There will be no miraculous resurrection and continuation of a post-war Harry and Alana romance. Sorry. I tried, I really did; _they _were the ones who said they wouldn't do it. This story as a whole isn't quite finished yet, but please refer to the epilogue chapter for that information.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. This is _Lead Us To The Light_, signing off.

* * *

04 November 2020  
It was a cold, utterly gray day. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky, and a bitter, dry wind blew dead leaves along the frostbitten ground. Winter was coming with a vengeance, which Harry thought was utterly appropriate; how better to acknowledge his double loss than with the season of death and cold?

Usually, Harry couldn't stand funerals. He was used to losing people in the early summer, when the air was sultry and perfumed with flowers, and the world was brazen and cruel in her beauty. If there was something Harry had grown to hate, it was a sunny day for a funeral. But this… this he liked, in a perverse way. The weather, for once, exactly suited his mood. So even though this funeral wasn't any easier than any of the others- in many ways, it was actually worse- at least it felt like a funeral.

He'd been numb for the past four days; numb and unable to process that Alana and Julian were actually gone. He'd hadn't slept, nor had he really eaten. Mostly, he'd sat in his quarters at Hogwarts, staring blankly into the fire. He had been blind and deaf to the world's celebrations of the defeat of the Death Eaters and the end of war, trapped within the stunned silence of his own mind. McGonagall had deftly acted in his stead as Deputy Headmistress, getting things at Hogwarts back to their usual routines; Ron and Hermione had spoken to the Minister on his behalf. Harry had simply sat on his couch, one arm cradling Lily, the other wrapped around James' shoulders. James, like his father, didn't speak; he merely sat curled into Harry's side, sometimes staring at the only sibling left to him, sometimes staring into the fire while he silently cried. They hadn't been separated once, and Harry was fine with that.

He stood alone in front of the two freshly covered graves, paying no heed to the bitter wind that played with his long black woolen trench coat or the legs of his black pinstripe suit. He'd deposited James and Lily into the car with Ron and Hermione, promising he would catch up with them later. The children needed to be thawed out from this frigid weather by a fireplace, mugs of Hermione's sinfully good hot chocolate in hand. All too soon, Harry would need to return to the Weasleys' home. He needed to be there when James was ready to talk about the loss of his mother and brother; he needed to hold his baby girl, who would never know her mum. But for right now, he needed to be out here, needed to share the cold where his wife and stepson now rested.

How was it possible that they were dead? It had all happened so fast. It wasn't like the movies, where there was clever repartee while blows were exchanged. Alana hadn't even had a chance to defend herself. One moment she had been standing there; the next, her corpse had lain on the ground, with no time in between. Alana's death was horrible enough as it was; Julian's murder was absolutely barbaric. He had been a child, only twelve years old. Yes, he had made a monumental mistake in aligning himself with Tisiphone, with bringing her into the castle, but could he be faulted? He had just been a boy who wanted to know his father's family. He was no different than Harry wanting to know his parents, and for that longing, he had been killed. By his own cousin, no less; the very family he had been trying to know.

He stared woodenly at the headstones, the mounds of freshly exposed earth. He had no flowers for the graves; even if he had thought to pick some up from a corner store, what good did flowers do them? They were dead, they couldn't smell or appreciate them. Besides, no flower had ever seemed to suit Alana. Daisies were too plain, roses too overdone, lilies too flashy. Anyways, flowers wouldn't look right against the black marbled granite of the headstones. Alana had left no details in her will about where she wanted to be buried, so he had taken the liberty of interring her and Julian with Draco. It seemed fitting, in a horrible way; Julian had always wanted to know his father, and now they could lie together for an eternity…

"I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely, his eyes trained on Draco's headstone. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect them for you."

He'd never thought that he would see eye to eye with his archenemy. After all, Draco had stood for everything Harry hated- elitism, prejudice, and outright evil. And yet, in the end, were they really so different? They had both loved Alana and Julian, had both lost them, had both failed to protect them after promising they would always take care of them. Harry was sure that Draco would have appreciated the irony, had he been alive.

"Oh, Harry."

Harry whipped around, blinking in confusion as Alana walked towards him. He looked around, frowning to see that the graveyard where he now stood was not brown and wintery, but instead warm and green. He was no longer in a sharp, pressed suit, but rather in jeans and a t-shirt. Alana stood before him, garbed in a simple, white, gauzy dress that flowed with the slightest breeze.

"Am I dead?" he asked blankly.  
She laughed softly. "No."

She took hold of his arm, guiding him to an ancient, enormous weeping willow. As she parted the swaying branches, he saw a simple bench nestled at the base of the tree. The soft grass was carpeted with small, white starflowers, a touch which Harry found rather fitting. He made a mental note to have starflower seeds sprinkled over Alana's grave. It would look beautiful come spring…

"Is Julian alright?" he asked, biting his lip. "I… I'm so sorry, Lana. I should've protected him-"  
"Julian's fine," she soothed him. "He's off flying with his father somewhere. Since you never showed him the Porkoff Play."  
He groaned, chuckling. "Porskoff Ploy. It's a Porskoff Ploy. How many Quidditch players have you married?"  
"Remind me, Hal, how much attention did I pay to Quidditch?" she shot back, smiling.  
s"What is this place, then?" he asked, brow furrowed as they sat.  
Alana glanced around, looking supremely peaceful. "My last wish," she replied.  
"What?" Harry frowned. "You wished for this? Why not wish for the curse to have no affect on you? You've done that before," he reminded her. "It kept me alive, why wouldn't it work for you?"  
"Because it was my time to die," Alana stated.  
"No it's not," Harry instantly negated, shaking his head. "The war is over, and you've got Narcissa to look after, and we've got James and Lily, and-"  
"Harry," Alana broke in softly.

She was smiling as she leaned forward, laying her hands on his face. He drew a deep breath, falling silent, as he stared at her, willing his eyes not to fill with tears. All the things they'd done to each other, all the things he should have done, should have said… and now it was too late for all of that. How monumentally foolish of him; who better than him knew how fragile life was? And yet, he had behaved as if he had an eternity with Alana. So here he was, out of time.

"Stop berating yourself, Hal," Alana said softly.

She looked at him with utter love and compassion in her gaze as her thumbs stroked along his cheekbones. She smiled at him, as though she could read every hateful thought he was directing at himself and found him very silly for thinking so. When she smiled at him like that, he couldn't help but relax, to stop his silent remonstrations and focus on her.

"Hal, I've done everything I was sent to this earth to do," she said quietly. "But you… you have so much yet to do, to be."  
"You sound like Frodo at the end of _Return of the King_," he groused.

She laughed softly, before looking him in the eye, jade meeting emerald. A thousand images passed between them in that moment. There would be birthdays and Christmases and coming home parties after every school year… scraped knees and broken bones and teeth coming out… there was black haired, jade-eyed Lily taking her first steps, and James leading the Gryffindors on to victory in Quidditch… both the children graduating school, each sporting red and gold… James marrying Selene Longbottom, and Lily flying with the Holywood Harpies…

"You have a whole life to live, with the children," she murmured. "Don't give that up."

He nodded numbly. He saw happiness in this life that Alana was promising him, and he grasped for that promise of joy. He knew that he had to keep going; he had their children to raise, his dreams to pursue, a life without war to enjoy. He had friends to laugh with, family to love, Hogwarts to lovingly rule.

But before he started upon that life, there was one last thing he had to do before he could close this chapter of his existence. He'd never been comfortable expressing his emotions, but he'd never done it while Alana was alive, and this was his last chance before he left her behind…

"Lana," he said hesitantly. "I… I want you to know… I…"  
"I know, Hal," she said softly, laying a finger over his lips. "Me too."

Perhaps he should have pushed her hand away and spoken the words he'd never uttered while she was alive. But maybe she was right, and it was better left unsaid. They both knew and understood how they felt; to put it into words would have cheapened it, defined what was indefinable. Leaving it unsaid left it pure and unsullied. Besides, they didn't need the words to know that they were true.

They sat in silence for a moment, their eyes saying everything their lips didn't. After a moment, Alana smiled.

"Harry? Don't mourn me," she said softly. "Miss me, but let me go."

He was quiet for a long moment, eyes downcast. But he could see the sense in her words. He had spent so much of his life mourning for those he'd lost- his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny. Perhaps he had never in his life been entirely free of the burden of his lost loved ones, especially since he'd never gotten to say goodbye. Perhaps it would be easier to move on from Alana, since she had Wished for this moment for them to say their farewells. He was grateful to her for that.

"What do I do now?" he asked, wonder in his voice.  
She smiled. "That's the beauty of it. Whatever you want."

His eyes unfocused as he thought about that. What _did_ he want to do? What adventures did he want to embark on, now that he no longer carried the weight of being the Savior? What experiences did he want to have, now that his life was his own?

"I'll be there with you, any time you wish upon a star," she said softly.  
"You're my shooting star," he replied, leaning in for one last kiss.

When he pulled away and opened his eyes, he was standing alone in the cemetery again. He looked around; it was dark now, the stars shining overhead. Had it all been a dream, then? He glanced down at Alana's headstone, his heart sinking.

A white flash in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He glanced overhead, to be treated to a stunning shower of shooting stars streaking across the night sky, illuminating and dazzling him. He watched the display silently, before the smile on his face turned into a soft laugh.

"Alright, Lana, point taken," he murmured.

He smiled, touching his fingers to his lips and pressing the kiss to her headstone before heading down the hill. He might not see her, but she was still there watching. He was going to make her proud.


	22. Epilogue: Because It's Never Over

I quite like writing an extra chapter after the story's over. It's like the Special Features option on DVDs. There is nothing in this chapter that advances the plot; it's mostly just a bunch of tidbits- parts of the story that got changed, my future plans, etc.

**

* * *

OC CAST LIST**

Alana Montblanc: Patricia Velasquez  
James Potter: Chamber of Secrets-era Daniel Radcliffe  
Julian Malfoy: Chamber of Secrets-era Tom Felton  
Roman Corona: Chris Pine  
Tisiphone Niger: Christina Ricci

**

* * *

PRAISE GOD FOR EDITING**

When I'd finished writing _Light_, it was about 84 pages long. When I finished editing, the story had grown to 118 pages long. This was the story that taught me the importance of reading my rough draft through from start to finish before I post, to catch the million and one things that I need to fix.

**

* * *

DID YOU KNOW THAT**… In the very very first rough draft of the plot [which I believe was written sometime in 2008 or 2009], Harry was going to take Alana and the boys on a summer holiday to Scotland. While there, Alana was going to receive a note proclaiming _The Fallen Shall Rise_ [and yes, _The Fallen Shall Rise_ was the original title for this story]. She was going to be stalked by an unknown enemy while on holiday, and that would be how my Death Eaters plot would get started. I'm glad that changed; the original plot was much weaker than this turned out to be.

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… Originally [once again, this was in the very very first rough draft of the plot], Alana's role in the plot was a much more passive one. She was going to be kidnapped by Death Eaters in an attempt to trap Harry. Fortunately, she smacked me upside the head and reminded me that she has never in her life taken a passive role in anything, and if I tried to make her be passive in this story she would ensure that the story never got written.

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… Alana was originally supposed to survive this story. There was supposed to be a happy ending, complete with Harry and Alana actually saying "I love you" [anybody notice how they never once in the entire story said those three words to each other, even if it was basically stated that they did in fact love each other?]. Amazing how she keeps refusing to have a Happily Ever After.

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… Even after Alana decided for me that she was going to die, hers was supposed to be the only Order-affiliated death. Julian was supposed to live, and I'm still mad at him for changing that bit of the plot. He was supposed to grow up and become a Healer, restore the Malfoy name, even get married. However, while I was working on edits, Julian knocked me upside the head and told me that since he was the cause for the Battle of Hogwarts in the first place, he wanted to redeem himself and die a hero. Like mother, like son, I swear…

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… Originally, after Alana killed Bellatrix she was going to go into hiding in Hogwarts. Tisiphone and the Death Eaters were going to be looking for her all over Europe, but she'd be safely hidden in the Headmaster's office. Oddly enough, I kept the story that way until I was editing chapter fifteen. It wasn't until then that I realized, "Wait a minute, she got into this mission to be useful. She wouldn't just back out because things got dangerous." That was when I worked out a cover for Alana so she could return to work in Spain. And let me tell you what, it threw me off my writing groove for a while until I figured out a way for Alana to [a] manage to get pregnant, and [b] deal with her pregnancy while still going through with her mission.

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… Originally, the last chapter was supposed to take place 25 years in the future. Harry was supposed to be sitting by Alana's grave, telling her all about how the children were doing, and how he still, after all this time, didn't understand her. Well, that ending changed after Julian decided he was going to die. I tried to pay homage to the original chapter with the visions of the future Alana shows Harry. Also, I realized that it was absolutely idiotic for Harry to never actually figure Alana out. If they weren't going to have a Happily Ever After, I wanted him to at least finally understand who she was, and to love her for it. Even if they never overtly said "I love you."

**DID YOU KNOW THAT**… At one point, there was going to be a Roman/Alana/Harry love triangle. Basically, it was going to play on the fact that Roman had come from Alana's world and they were very similar in the fact that they were both traitors to their family, while Harry could never fully understand Alana because he'd never been through what she had. And that worked, until Harry and Alana decided they were actually going to fall in love [yeah, can you believe that? At one point they weren't ever really going to truly, deeply love each other romantically]. Once they told me that they wanted their romance to be genuine, however, any plans I might have had for Roman and Alana had to be scrapped, and Roman was relegated to the role he plays now- as liaison between Alana and the Ministry.

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PLAYLIST FOR LEAD US TO THE LIGHT**

Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin  
Lucifer's Angel, The Rasmus  
I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You, Marc Cohn  
Over My Head (Cable Car), The Fray  
Canon in D Major, Pachebel  
It's My Life, Bon Jovi  
Reflection, Mulan  
Quiet Mind, Blue October  
Evil Angel, Breaking Benjamin  
Natural Disaster, Plain White T's  
Better Than Me, Hinder  
Murder City, Green Day  
Be Prepared, Lion King  
The River, Good Charlotte feat. M Shadows and Synyster Gates  
Walk Through The Fire, Buffy  
Only The Good Die Young, Billy Joel  
Only Hope, Switchfoot

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BUT WAIT! THIS SERIES WILL NEVER DIE!**

Yes, that's right, Alana's not quite done demanding my attention yet. I hold fast to the statement that _Lead Us To The Light_ is the last story in this series. However, Alana's saga is a trilogy of sorts, and I have yet to write part one of the trilogy. Yes, that's right, I'm going to be writing Draco and Alana's story, wherein Alana is created and grows up. It's entitled _The Light in the Darkness_. It's going to cover everything from Voldemort's decision to breed Alana until the day she's put in Azkaban. Yeah. That's quite a bit of stuff to write about.

I admit it won't be out for a while; [a] I'm going to be posting a few other stories first, and [b] I've only written a couple of chapters. However, seeing as the next few stories to be posted have already been written, I will be starting work on it in the very near future. So maybe, just maybe, you won't be waiting a year for this story to be posted, like you had to wait a year between _Darkness_ and _Light_.

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SO WHAT'S NEXT FROM PERFECTDISASTER22?**

Well, next up for me is an _Alice in Wonderland_ trilogy. At the time of this epilogue being posted, I have Books One and Two completely written and ready to be looked over by my brand-new beta, and Book Three is being written [despite its best effort to resist me]. Hope to see you there, or if I don't, I hope to see you when I begin posting Draco and Alana's story!

As always, you can check my profile page to keep abreast of all my progress and latest news!


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